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HOME CIRCLE 
FRATERNITY 

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The Evolution ofANew Religion 



j. R.FRANCIS 




Class H TlOZS 
Book T 11 . 

Copyright^ . 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



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Jfcduri^ SQ%> 



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THE 



Home Circle Fraternity 



Evolution of a New Religion 



BY 

JOHN R. FRANCIS 



CHICAGO 

The Progressive Thinker Publishing House 

1910 






Copyright 

LOUISA CAROLINE FRANCIS 

Chicago 

1910 



'CLA273747 



PREFACE 



The Life Work of John R. Francis was largely along 
the lines of education and philanthropy. His intimate 
association with Spiritualists showed him that many of 
them were earnest, thoughtful, truth-seeking men and 
women living in isolated localities, far from libraries and 
reading rooms, and without means to purchase the books 
they needed. Soon after founding his paper he formu- 
lated a plan whereby these workers could obtain at a 
nominal cost a library that should cover the various 
phases of Spiritual Philosophy. This plan was faithfully 
carried out. With The Progressive Thinker he sent out 
each year a new volume of the series. Seventeen of 
these already have appeared. The present number con- 
sists of papers from his own pen. Such of these as have 
appeared in The Progressive Thinker he thought worthy 
of presentation in a more permanent form. The book 
was well under way at the time of his transition. To 
compile and arrange in so far as possible as he would 
have done has been a labor of love as well as a duty 
which I feel that I owe to those who have for so many 
years read with interest the product of his fertile brain. 

LOUISA C. FRANCIS. 

Chicago, Illinois, 



THE ROUGH ROAD OF AN OLD SOLDIER. 



Not long ago I was approached by a queer specimen of 
humanity, who, as quick as he caught my eye, said: 

"Mister, I'm side-tracked! I have lost my hold! I 
am no longer strong, vigorous and active. The cold 
winds pierce my thin clothing; hunger at times gnaws 
at my vitals; the cold airs of night sting me as I seek 
some secluded place to sleep, and side-tracked I truly 
am, and cannot turn in any conceivable direction that 
I can observe a rift in the clouds! But the time was — 
long, long years ago! — when I was full of the spirit of 
life, and nothing then could side-track me. Then, sitting 
by the side of the girl I loved, I was the peer of Na- 
poleon when he made his first love to Josephine; as 
happy as Washington when he breathed his ardent ad- 
miration into the ears of Martha; as highly pleased 
as the Roman Conqueror when he pressed his lips to the 
cheeks of Cleopatra. Yes, on a rustic seat in the forest, 
climbing vines overhead and moss-covered ground at our 
feet, with the blue vault of heaven over us, by the side 
of my Adaline — alas! I was not side-tracked then, but 
was the happiest of mortals. Stranger, can you help a 
poor, forlorn, side-tracked man?" 

"Certainly I can and will." 

"Be seated by my side," as he pointed to a rude seat, 
"and I will tell you why I am side-tracked; why I have 
lost my hold, and why the clouds seem so dark around 
me." 

Complying with his request, he continued: 

"Stranger, were you ever in a cottage homo, clamber- 
ing vines around the windows, a purling spring in the 
yard, and nature's flowers everywhere, and love glistening 
from as rosy cheeks and lips as were ever kissed by 

3 



mortal man, and every sound musically sweet and ten- 
der?" — 

"Well," — 

"Don't interrupt me, stranger! Sit in silence as I tell 
you why I am side-tracked. In my house, stranger, was 
paradise! I did not aspire for a higher heaven, a 
grander home, or purer love! I don't know, stranger, 
but it seems to me that my woodland cottage was plas- 
tered all over with approving smiles of angels, and the 
central figure of them was my Adaline. But the war 
came, and at the first bugle call I responded, and en- 
listed to serve my country. No side-track then for me! 
I remember well the last night I stayed with Adaline! 
In the front of our vine-clad cottage we sat, my arms 
around her, bathed all over in that holy love which she 
alone possessed, — sweeter to me, stranger, than any in- 
cense on holy altar, or any perfume of bower or garden. 
The stars overhead! The silvery moon bursting from 
the clouds in the east to smile upon us! The cricket 
on the hearth chirping tenderly, as if in adieu to me for- 
ever. No side-track then, stranger! I had more happi- 
ness then to the square inch than you could compute 
with mathematics, and as I looked into Adaline's eyes 
and pressed my lips to hers, a doleful raven lighted on 
a log near us, and uttered a death-knell. Stranger, it 
was a death warning! I heard it just before my angel 
child died! It had the same doleful sound then as now. 
My limbs trembled, my heart fluttered, everything grew 
dark before me, and I fell right out of existence! Fin- 
ally I came to, Adaline bending over me, wooing me 
back to life. In a few minutes I was myself again, and 
she laughed at my fears, just as if a raven could tell the 
future. In the morning we parted, her tear-stained eyes 
expressive of the regrets of her soul; I to go to the 
battle-field — she to the home of her father. Stranger, 
that raven side-tracked me. I was not in the army six 
months before a letter came announcing the death of 
Adaline. Here is the last letter I ever received from 
her — the writing now is almost illegible. Stranger, shall 
I read it to you?" 

"Yes, certainly." 

"Here it is, stranger. 

4 



" 'My Dear Jake: A week ago I wrote you all the 
current news, so you know what is happening in your old 
home as well as I do. Since then, papa has been very 
sick, and I have been tenderly nursing him. I tell you, 
my dearest husband, the days seem long and wearisome 
without you by my side. Yesterday, just as the west 
was tinged with all the colors that the sun could im- 
part, the fleecy clouds resembling a great bed of flowers, 
I was by the side of Minnie's grave, the third anniversary 
of her death, with a large basket of woodland flowers to 
baptize her last resting-place with them and my tears. 
Jake, it did seem then that I could see her. I lost 
myself for a time in reverie. I seemed to be with her. 
I was really with her. She placed her tiny arms around 
my neck, Jake, and kissed me a hundred times, telling 
me that half of them was for her darling papa in the 
army. She told me, Jake, that I would soon be with her 
in heaven, and that we would be there to welcome you 
when you come. When I came from my reveries, I was 
lying on the green grass, the grave of Minnie for a pillow, 
and the stars of heaven shining upon me. I must have 
been there, Jake, for an hour, and it was all a dream! 
and, of course, will never come true. But, Jake, it will 
do no harm to tell you all I saw there. I was in heaven! 
It was a grand place. I saw there an exact counterpart 
of our woodland cottage; the same clambering vines; 
the same wild flowers; the same sparkling spring, only far 
more beautiful. Jake, an angel came and took Minnie 
and me to you. We found you on a battle field, calmly 
sleeping after the severe struggle of the day. Little Min- 
nie placed her cheeks to yours and for a brief season 
cuddled by your side. I pressed my lips to yours and 
kissed you as in days when in our flower-arbored home. 
The angel said that I would never live to welcome you 
home, but that you would survive the struggle and live 
to be a very old man. But this was all a dream, Jake; 
I shall live to welcome you home again, with a thousand 
kisses and caresses. But seeing you so plainly, and see- 
ing my darling Minnie, too, was gratifying, though in 
a dream. But, Jake, while at the grave of Minnie that 
same raven — it seemed to be the very one that appeared 

5 



before us on the evening of your departure — came and 
lighted at my feet and looked imploringly up into my 
face, and uttered a mournful sound. But all these dreams 
and omens mean nothing. I tell them to you, for I must 
always write good long letters to the dearest man on 
earth. I do wish you were with me; I would like to 
put my arms around your neck and press my cheeks 
to yours, and pillow my head upon your bosom, that our 
souls might thrill with that love which is yours and 
mine. But good-by, Jake, with a thousand kisses and a 
thousand good wishes. ADALINE.' ' 

Wiping the tears from his eyes with a handkerchief 
that had seen better and cleaner days, he remarked with 
deep emotion: 

"Stranger, that was the last letter I received from 
Adaline. Only a few days after one was due from her, 
her father wrote me that she had been taken sick very 
suddenly, and in a few hours died, her last words be- 
ing, 'I see my beloved Jake.' Stranger, since then I have 
been side-tracked. I can't get on the main line, or the 
direct road. I have tried, and tried, and tried. I am 
now crippled, waiting, stranger, for the final summons, 
when I will be no longer side-tracked, but on the main 
line with my angel wife and Minnie by my side. 
Stranger, even now," I am full of hope. I believe that 
in heaven Adaline will be my wife, and Minnie my same 
darling child." 

Listening attentively to his pathetic story, I slipped a 
dollar in his hand to assist one who is side-tracked, 
and who will undoubtedly remain there until death 
breaks the condition. 

How many there are who are side-tracked, who can- 
not, with all their strivings, get on the main line to hap- 
piness. To those poor unfortunates, always extend a 
helping hand and a cheering word. The loss of a wife 
and child had side-tracked him, and he could never catch 
hold of life again as it was with him when Adaline and 
Minnie were by his side. This world will never be 
ushered into the millennial era until every house and 
every home shall become an asylum for those who are 
side-tracked; then, and not till then, will angels draw 
near this earth and smile lovingly on all humanity. 

6 



The religion of the Home Circle Fraternity consists 
wholly of BEING GOOD and DOING GOOD, independent of 
all belief in a God, Devil, Savior or religious Dogmas — a 
religion that has a practical spiritual and ethical founda- 
tion, on which all classes can stand in perfect harmony 
and work for the advancement of mankind — a religion 
that places its genuine workers in accord with the VI- 
BRATIONS that emanate from the philosophers, seers, 
poets, scientists, and other noble souls high in spirit life. 



A VERY BEAUTIfUL DEATH 



THE VIOLINIST. 

"When by the touch of music freed 

I love the world that shuts me in, 
When in the strife by men decreed 

The noble hopes no guerdon win, 
At whiles the music murmurs low, 

At whiles with happy heart it sings, 
Joy dances with the dancing bow, 

Or sorrow sobs along the strings. 

"While a lost alien on strange shores 

I lie, by waves of music hurled, 
Complaining through my fingers' pours 

The sorrow of a yearning world, 
Till, lapsing from the heavens to earth, 

I drop the throbbing violin 
And common folk of little worth 

With common faces close me in." 

Some deaths are a tragedy; some are a farce; some 
are sad; some are heroic; some are sublime; some are 
poetic, and occasionally one that is divinely musical and 
angelic, each death blooming with that flower which the 

7 



soil of their respective lives had cultivated. If reared in 
a soil of crime, evil surroundings, and discord, the death 
will constitute a tragedy in reality, and the entrance 
into the land of souls will be dark and forbidding. 

In order that death may be sublime and beautiful, 
one's life must correspond therewith. There never was a 
rainbow that arched the heavens, as if a smile from the 
Infinite, without the mist of the morning or the descend- 
ing drops of rain that come like Ministering Angels to 
the flowers and vegetation of earth. 

How can your death be beautiful, unless, like the rain- 
bow, it is reflected through something — through the po- 
etic grandeur of good deeds and holy aspirations. 

The villain's death reflects only darkness, wherein he 
is confronted with the deeds of his horrible life, which 
rise up as so many scorpions to sting him. By cultivating 
thorns only, you can not realize the beauty of the rain- 
bow-tinted flowers. You can not die sublimely, beauti- 
fully, if you have not cultivated in your soul the deeds of 
life that correspond therewith in all respects. 

The good thought is in tune with THE INFINITE; 
it is always in touch with the sphere of Angels of Light; 
it basks in those vibrations that reflect goodness into 
the soul, and tends to render death beautiful. It as- 
sists in building your sphere and home in the spirit 
realms. The good deed, the exalted thought, the pure 
aspiration, and the divine purpose to lift upward some 
soul struggling for light and aid, cluster around one's 
death, like flowers woven into a bouquet, and render 
one's death poetically inspiring. 

Your deeds of life as surely indicate the true charac- 
ter of your death as the thermometer does that of a 
rising or falling temperature. If you live in the dark- 
ness of evil on earth, how can you expect anything but 
darkness on the spirit side of life? How can you expect 
to enter the high vibrations of the angels when you have 
only cultivated the low vibrations of selfishness? Death 
in order to be beautiful must correspond with those vi- 
brations which produce the beautiful. 

When a dear friend died in the long ago out in the 
far West, we sat by his bedside watching his transition 
into the realms of souls. His face was serenely sweet, 



even in its paleness, and at one time became sublimely 
lovely, as if the smile of an angel nestled thereon to give 
him a foretaste of heaven. In those dying moments the 
angels clustered around him. There was even music 
in the air, a sweet death knell hymn to welcome him to 
his spirit home, and he was dead — his body — but his 
soul was more alive than ever. His transition was, in- 
deed, beautiful. 

But when poor Sobrisky, a violinist, died in Chicago, 
there was a scene that baffles all description by a poet 
or seer. For a long time he had supported himself com- 
fortably by giving lessons on the violin. But old age 
finally came, as it comes to all with its numerous infirmi- 
ties, and he failed by degrees to attract pupils. All the 
sweet keepsakes, tokens of affection, pearls of love of 
a wedded life, were disposed of at the pawnshop with a 
despairing wail of deep anguish. As he gave to the pawn- 
broker the last token of love that attached him to his 
angel wife, he sobbed like a child; his whole frame 
trembled, and a sigh so sad, so disconsolate, came from 
him, it was enough to make an angel weep. The last 
link that united him to his soul-mate in the Spheres of 
Light and Love, had been disposed of — and all was des- 
olation! — nothing left but his violin, from which no one 
could part him but death. But the way of life became 
darker to him, while his soul became more radiant, more 
divinely lovely, until at last, food all gone, tokens of 
wifely affection all parted with, he realized that his end 
was near. 

Half starved, weak in body, weary in spirit, yet calmly 
resigned to the awful condition he was in, he arose from 
his couch, grasped his violin, and commenced playing — 
feebly at first, but gradually his strength returned, and 
his soul seemed to vibrate in harmony with Beethoven 
and Mozart, who were, no doubt, bending over him 
with their divine radiance Illuminating his soul. His 
old-time vigor had returned, and for a time his music 
was simply angelic, and under its divinely sweet influ- 
ence, and the presence of the master musicians, the poor 
old man's life ebbed away, while several attracted by 
the heavenly music, saw the violin drop from his hands, 
and the poor old Violinist fell back on his pillow — a 
BEAUTIFUL DEATH indeed! 

9 



All should seek to have a beautiful death, but you can 
not have one unless you earn it; unless your crop of 
good thoughts, good deeds, and noble aspirations make it 
so. Commence now to prepare for a beautiful death, 
and to place yourself in accord and sympathy with the 
vibrations from the Sphere of Love and Harmony, and 
thus aid in developing a New Religion. 



TWO SOULS ENTERING SPIRIT LIPE. 



This world is full of impressive contrasts, and wonder- 
ful extremes. Incandescent heat and arctic cold repre- 
sent two important extremes in the diverse vibrations 
of material nature. Birth into this world of beauty, 
and Death opening the Door into the spirit realms for 
a liberated soul, furnish a contrast that is enchanting 
to contemplate. The snake with its slimy tongue and 
poisonous saliva, and the angel radiant with love and 
intelligence, are the two extremes of creative energy on 
the part of Natural Law. One extreme is hideous, the 
other god-like. 

All through the immensity of space there are vibra- 
tions that produce opposite results — extremes! Human 
beings represent the two extremes of darkness and light 
— the good and bad, the ignorant and the cultivated. 
The woman in this city who enticed beautiful young girls 
into dens of vice, desolation and ruin, is in contrast with 
the Angel of Light who labored unceasingly to redeem 
them, and bring them back to the benign influence of 
home. 

God and the Devil stand prominently in contrast, 
whether facts or fiction. The contrasts of Heaven and 
Hell, have proved as interesting themes all along the 
ages. The golden streets of the former and the incan- 
descent fires of the latter have proved good material for 

10 



the revivalist all through the times of the past. The 
laughter of joy and the sighs and moans of deep anguish 
and sorrow exist side by side. Sadness and cheerfulness 
play an important part in this world of ours. The ups 
and downs of life are here on this plane to stay for many 
years. 

On earth and in heaven there are inequalities. No 
two lives run in exactly the same groove. The extremes 
of poverty and riches have existed since the world be- 
gan. The brightness of the higher spheres of spirit life 
stand in contrast with the dark conditions of the lower 
halls in the regions celestial. If no contrasts in life, the 
work of the reformer would be gone. If no hideous 
spheres in the realms of souls, there would be no need 
of ministering spirits. 

Ignorance and extreme wisdom can be discerned on 
all sides. The good and the bad intermingle. Ties that 
are binding bring the good and bad together. There 
was Nellie Goodwin, a conspicuous example. Her eyes 
were radiant with the light of an angel, and her features 
luminous with happiness and joy. Her smiles had the 
freshness of the morning glow, when all nature, glisten- 
ing with radiant dewdrops, is awakening to new life. 
She seemed to exhale gladness just as naturally as the 
flower does its heaven-born perfume. Life was to her 
a romantic dream, she always standing on the bright side 
of it. Her rippling laughter found an echo in every 
heart; there was joy therein, like a healing balm. 
Finally, as the story goes, Nellie married — a joining of 
the Devil and the Angel in the "holy" bonds of matri- 
mony. Charles, her husband, was exteriorly to those 
not acquainted with him, an Angel of Light. Interior- 
ly, he was a Demon of Darkness, a wolf in sheep's 
clothing, a viper in human form — cruel and remorseless 
in the extreme, and the embodiment of selfishness. 

Here were marked contrasts joined together, one ex- 
haling the fragrance of Heaven, the other possessing the 
craftiness of a Hell. One overflowing with the benign 
influence of sublime thoughts and angelic aspirations, 
and the other vibrating with the deception that lurks 
in the minds of demons. Two greater contrasts never 
existed. Extremes had met, one laden with high and 
noble aspirations, the other exactly the reverse. 

11 



These two extremes could not dwell together in unison, 
hence the ties were broken, the husband shot his wife 
and then turning the revolver on himself, committed 
suicide — and thus the ties that bound the two extremes 
in life were broken, and thus ends the chronicling of 
their career in the daily paper. 

But there arises another scene, grandly beautiful, ra- 
diant with angelic loveliness on the part of the murdered 
woman, and the vibration of her unsullied nature seemed 
to scintillate in the spiritual atmosphere, and voices full 
of sweet, tremulous sympathy spoke words of kindly 
greeting to the liberated soul just forced out of its earthly 
body by the murderous hands of a villain. The spirit 
mother was there, clasping her in that maternal love 
which radiated an influence far surpassing in beauty any- 
thing which the loftiest imagination can perceive, afford- 
ing a scene that would baffle the power of the angelic 
artist to adequately portray on canvas. An extreme was 
there, but it was one supreme thrill of gladness that the 
daughter and mother could meet in spirit life, and that 
their vibrations were in harmony with that divine prin- 
ciple that underlies the spirit realms, and manifests itself 
in many souls. One extreme of life, bright, noble, charm- 
ing in all things, had been at last liberated by one whose 
whole nature was surcharged with those emotions that 
only find birth in the dark spheres of spirit life. 

But there is another scene, that of a desolate, dismal, 
despairing soul, in the bleak, black, desolate hells of spirit 
life, where the moaning winds send forth a vibration 
sad, so witch-like and weird. The suicide and murderer 
was there, his spirit revealed as a monstrosity, and he 
reaping just what he had sown, his own acts of life sit- 
ting in judgment, and consigning him to his fate. 

Thus it is that extremes often meet, are united in 
marriage, live in discordant vibrations and are at last 
separated by the hand of malignant violence — one going 
to climes infernal, regions of darkness and despair, where 
the howling winds are sepulchral, the atmosphere stifling, 
and from which there is no possible way of escape only 
through genuine repentance; the other ascending to the 
sphere of light and love, where angelic beings only live, 
and where radiant happinesss exists among all the souls 
there. 

12 



Choose now your own LIFE LINES, the lines that lead 
to grander, nobler realizations, or the lines that lead to 
the home of demons, the region of souls steeped in crime 
sometimes so badly that total extinction may possibly 
follow — a soul lost, vanished, extinguished, blotted out of 
existence! 

Always live a life that is in PERFECT CONTRAST 
with evil thoughts, words or deeds, and Angels of Light 
and Love will welcome you to your Spirit Home, and thus 
the RELIGION OF GOODNESS will be fully developed 
in your soul. 



YOUR SPIRITUAL ASSETS CONSIDERED. 



All humanity are moving along diverging lines. No 
two occupy the same plane of thought. The flower-tinted 
rainbow never makes the same impression on each one 
who is looking upwards admiring its transcendent beauty 
and loveliness. 

Nature never exactly repeats itself in all of God's vast 
universe. The incoming and outflowing tides never send 
forth the same vibrations. 

The smile that illuminates the radiant features of the 
charming maiden like a sunbeam from the Throne of 
Light, never will in all time appear again in all respects. 

The events of the now will not return to-morrow. 
Even the sunshine of a summer day in the same exact 
proportion will never visit the world again. The earth 
itself with its myriads of animate life, will never again 
occupy the same position with reference to the various 
celestial orbs that it did one second ago. The twinkle 
of the North Star that you just observed never will be 
exactly repeated. The settings of the heavens with 
worlds and systems of worlds at this moment will not 
be the same when you draw your next breath. The 
moon never travels the same pathway twice. Each 
pulsation of the heart is different. What the eye sur- 

13 



veys this very moment, it can never see again, even one 
minute after, for during that time there has been growth 
or decay. 

Not a single minute repeats itself in the vast arcana 
of nature. The ideals of religion vary with each human 
mind. No two persons view the same aspect of God, 
and no thought ever exactly repeated itself. 

No vibration from the strings of a violin is ever, in 
minute details, repeated. Blood corpuscles are continu- 
ally dying, and new ones are being evolved unlike those 
which have perished. The moan of anguish that dies 
away in sepulchral tones will never be heard again. No 
two die exactly the same. 

The tune the litle bird warbles to-day will never be 
heard again in all its charming details. 

The universe to-morrow will have far different combi- 
nations than it has to-day, so you can safely say at this 
moment "Good-by to present conditions; they will never 
exist the same again in all their details." 

Every beam of light that comes flitting from the sun 
is somewhat different from every other beam of light 
that ever existed. 

The pitiful groan of the soldier dying on the battle 
field, stands with its vibrations of deep sorrow, solitary 
and alone — nothing like it in all respects in all the re- 
gions of space — it has its own sorrowful expression of 
anguish, as the spirit takes its flight to the bloodless 
spiritual plane of life. It was his expiring groan, wholly 
different from that of any other soldier's, as life van- 
ished; it had an individuality of its own throughout, and 
can never be exactly counterfeited. 

Your thoughts are wholly unlike the thoughts of any 
other person — they possess a distinct nature and poten- 
tiality of their own, and you are in all respects re- 
sponsible therefor; they are your ethical, spiritualizing 
or degrading ASSETS in tfce making up of your indi- 
vidual responsibility in this life, and the spirit world to 
which you will eventually ascend. Being like no other 
thoughts in all the regions of sidereal space, they can 
easily be traced to YOU; you are the responsible owner, 
and their effects on your spiritual nature can be easily 
discerned. You can not escape from yourself. The ef- 

14 



fects of your thoughts, of your aspirations, of your acts, 
are your ASSETS only, and you will carry them to the 
regions of souls. 

All things differ in their material and spiritual as- 
pects, in their effects, in their general make-up, hence 
YOUR acts, YOUR thoughts, YOUR aspirations, possess 
an individuality of their own, and can be traced every 
time to YOU — they are your exclusive property, ASSETS, 
as it were, which you will take to the realms of souls, 
and those ASSETS will sit in judgment for you or against 
you. 

Over a half century ago I knew a man in the then 
half-settled West. He was wealthy, exceedingly selfish, 
overbearing, a politician of the old school, and requiring 
servility in all his demands, in many respects a tyrant, 
cruel, remorseless. His thoughts, his schemes, his as- 
pirations to promote self, possessed an individuality of 
their own, and were his spiritual ASSETS, and they alone 
will determine what his position shall be in the next 
world. Alas! you take to the regions of souls your own 
individual assets; they will accompany you there; they 
will be in Court, as it were to judge you. They will 
elevate you, or degrade you, placing you where you be- 
long. Mr. X. — for such we shall call him — had a splen- 
did personality; his smile was angelic and his suavity 
sublimely beautiful, as he carried out his selfish schemes 
for self-aggrandizement in politics and the accumula- 
tion of wealth. In a worldly way he was a grand suc- 
cess; viewed from a spiritual standpoint he was a dis- 
mal failure — the ASSETS dsrived from his thoughts, his 
schemes, his aspirations, his acts towards his fellow- 
men in general, are enshrouded or encased in his spir- 
itual nature, LIKE A BIRTH-MARK on the person and 
they are his ASSETS to commence housekeeping with in 
the next life; they are HIS BAGGAGE to the land of 
souls; they will accompany him in spite of himself. He 
can't burn them; he can't destroy them; by no possible 
method can they be annihilated, or even be hidden — 
they constitute his ASSETS as he takes a through train 
to the spheres above. 

But there is another picture to be drawn. Mr. X.'s 
residence was regarded as a palace in those early days. 

15 



a large stone stable in the rear, in one part ' of which 
resided a woman who supported herself by doing odd- 
jobs for Mr. X. and the neighbors near by. She was 
uneducated, in many respects crude as to the stern con- 
ventionalities of this life, yet patterned after the immor- 
tal Lincoln, her innate nature was studded with jewels 
of rare worth, with aspirations vibrant with the touch 
of angelic fingers, with chords that responded to the 
whispers of loved ones in spirit life, and within her 
soul there were rare treasures, the effects of right think- 
ing, of right acting, of right emotions, of everything that 
was lovely, ennobling and beautiful; a gem, she was, 
with a rough, uncouth exterior, — crude, perhaps, in 
speech, yet sublime in her views of life and its re- 
sponsibilities. Life to her was one continual heroic 
struggle exerted in behalf of her children, then nearly 
self-sustaining. In all her labors and struggles, she 
maintained a cheerful aspect, for she heard whispers, 
sweet with love, and soul-enchanting, and they seemed 
to emanate from the very atmosphere of her room, giv- 
ing her strength, comfort, happiness, and encouragement. 
She lived in an atmosphere where angels loved to linger; 
and her soul was vibrant to their touch, her thoughts re- 
sponsive to theirs, her aspirations in harmony with theirs, 
and her nature in- tune with the Infinite, as it were, and 
though crude in some respects, yet like the immortal 
Lincoln, she had seraphic visions, soul-enchanting 
dreams, and spiritual experiences, that rendered the 
hardship of life lighter to bear. But by and by the strug- 
gle of life weakened her, the hectic flush of consumption 
came upon her cheek and she was unable to work, and 
her food, the refuse of Mr. X.'s table, afforded her ample 
nourishment. The crusts of bread, the fragments of pie 
and cake, the picked bones, etc., afforded her and her 
children ample nourishment, until finally she heard 
seraphic music in the air, followed by sweet whispers of 
love, telling her that her death on this day would come, 
just as the evening sun kissed the vines and flowers that 
clustered around her window, thus preparing her for 
the change. Her children were by her side. The wist- 
ful, affectionate gaze of the mother enveloped them in a 
halo of love as they knelt by her side, and repeated the 

16 






love-prayer she had taught them, and her features were 
illuminated with a divine halo as she gazed upon them 
and gave them her blessing and consigned them to the 
tender care of a neighbor, whose soul was on the re- 
sponsive plane. The setting sun finally sent its rays 
through the cluster of vines and flowers, and under their 
serene influence she passed away — a beautiful death, in- 
deed. 

The next day there was, strange to say, two funerals. 
Mr. X. had died the very day old Aunt Bentley, the old 
odd-job woman did, from the effects of a cancerous 
growth. In the fine residence in front there was os- 
tentatious display; flowers, nature's jewels, added their 
serenity, sweetness and love to the occasion. The Ma- 
sons were there to officiate and care for his remains in 
accordance with the rites of that noted body. The 
choir sent forth angelic music, but the minister's voice 
sounded sepulchral as he gave his stereotyped funeral 
discourse to the bereaved mourners. From the spirit 
side of life this funeral was a vapid desert place, void 
of anything beautiful or lovely. 

But in the rear was another funeral of the poverty- 
stricken old woman. Several of the neighbors were pres- 
ent to assist on this mournful occasion. The coffin was 
extremely plain; the only flowers and vines present 
were those plucked from the window, and they seemed 
to embrace it with filial affection. But there is another 
scene to portray. The Angels of Light and Love were 
there, and they gave the ascended spirit a most cordial 
greeting. 

Another scene followed. Mr. X. stood not far away 
on the spirit side of life, with all of the ASSETS of earth 
life that pass as coin in the spirit realms, and those AS- 
SETS belonged exclusively to a sphere attached closely 
to earth, somewhat dark and somber, and above which 
he could not then go. But the poor old woman, her AS- 
SETS were intrinsically valuable, and she could ascend 
by virtue thereof to a higher sphere. 

We caution you, reader, if you live a selfish life like 
X., your ASSETS in spirit life will consign you to the 
lower spheres — perhaps in darkness and gloom, and 
there to remain until you redeem yourself. While if 

17 



your ASSETS are like those of old Mrs. Bentley, the odd- 
job woman, your life in the future will be serene and 
happy and your progress rapid. Do good and be good 
in your earthly career, and your spiritual ASSETS will 
constantly increase, thus aiding in establishing the Reli- 
gion of Goodness. 



SPIRITS CONNNED IN PRISON. 



No doubt there are spirits in prison more closely con- 
fined, and more hardened than any of the convicts of 
earth. In darkness — sometimes almost impenetrable — 
and in a gloom almost too intolerable to bear, they live, 
not able to always fully realize the great change that 
has taken place in their forlorn condition. The very at- 
mosphere is in many respects more stifling than in the 
deepest cave of earth; the sounds that echo from their 
weird surroundings are dismal, sepulchral, and convey 
no ray of hope, no indication of future joy, for there the 
morning is never ushered in with its vast wealth of love- 
liness, grandeur, and the animated scenes of life— dark- 
ness continually! 

Spirits in prison! 

Yes, millions upon millions of them. They have been 
consigned to this dreary, dark, desolate prison, a desert- 
like place never kissed by a ray of solar light, and never 
illuminated by the phosphorescent glow arising from the 
spiritual illumination of the higher spheres — consigned 
to that hideous place by the Laws of Nature, inherent in 
their own being. Their very lives are a hideous stain 
on even the deplorable conditions in which they are com- 
pelled to live — no pen is capable of fully portraying the 
dreadful misery of spirits in prison. A Black Hand assas- 
sin is there; he was bred in crime, cultured only in 
devilishness, and innately a demon of the darkest hue. 
He murdered without a single remorseful emotion. His 

18 



face was never tear-stained with pity, and loving sympa- 
thy had no place in his hideous nature. An angelic as- 
piration, iridescent with love for all mankind, even of 
the faintest kind, never touched the inner soul of his 
dark nature, for therein was a desert waste. Even there, 
in almost impenetrable darkness, he has not a remorse- 
ful thought, not a vibration of pity — he is a demon still, 
a spirit in prison, a miserable degenerate, and is grad- 
ually wasting away. As time passes on, his eyes grow 
more fiendish in expression, his features more satanic 
ghastly, his consciousness more dim, and his whole being 
is a seething mass of corruption. The light of his mind 
is flickering like that of an exhausted lamp; his thoughts 
are diabolical, confused and feeble, and void of any 
high and holy aspiration; he is gradually dying — dying 
in a spirit prison, his life, his mind, his consciousness 
being dissipated — dissolved back into the desert waste, — 
the BLACK HAND DEMON has been practically annihi- 
lated as a conscious entity. A scene like this has oc- 
curred in spirit life. The God of Nature, the God of 
Immutable Law, or the God of Principle never forces 
upon any individual immortality. The scorpion some- 
times stings itself to death, and so are the members 
of the Black Hand Society gradually building up their 
natures so calloused with crime, that when once in prison 
on the spirit side of life they gradually perish from their 
own stings, adding new material to the dreary waste they 
occupy. We are now voicing the opinion of those high 
in spirit life, who assert that immortality is only con- 
ferred on those who gain it by BEING GOOD, and DOING 
GOOD; it is never forced on any one, and many spirits 
in prison are too depraved, too demon-like, to even wish 
for it, and finally they are extinguished. 

Endless progression is for only those who gain it by 
BEING GOOD and DOING GOOD. Retrogression is for 
the demons of earth and spirit life, until at last the 
light of their soul is extinguished, gone out forever. Of 
course many spirits in prison thoroughly reform, grad- 
ually grow better and are finally redeemed, advancing 
rapidly when they once see the light, and become great 
helpers on the spirit side of life. But there are mor- 
tals in prison on earth life, some with souls illuminated 

19 



with the true spirit of reformation. There are Carl Ar- 
nold and William Harvey, as set forth in the New York 
Herald of Feb. 2, 1908. In a few months from that date 
they stepped from the Kansas state penitentiary at Lan- 
sing free men, owing their freedom to the literary ac- 
complishments of the former, cultivated and developed 
during more than a decade as a convict. More than thir- 
, teen years ago Arnold and Harvey, then boys of less than 
twenty years, were convicted of the murder of Mayor 
John Marsh, at Kinsley, and sentenced to death. 

Under the Kansas law the governor must first sign a 
death warrant before the death penalty can be imposed. 
As no Kansas governor has for years signed such a war- 
rant, death sentence in Kansas is equivalent to a sen- 
tence to life imprisonment in the state penitentiary at 
Lansing, where the law requires that condemned convicts 
be taken to await the signing of the death warrant by the 
state's chief executive. 

While visiting at Lansing several months ago the at- 
tention of Governor Hoch was attracted to Arnold, on 
whom the authorship of a book entitled 'The Kansas In- 
ferno," had just been fastened by the prison officials. 
The book deals with the Kansas prison system and was 
written by Arnold during his imprisonment. Several 
poems written by the convict were also shown to the 
Governor. 

One poem, which is as follows, did more to hasten the 
exercise of clemency by the Governor than had the pro- 
tests of all the citizens of Kinsley done to delay it: 

I cannot fawningly implore, 

As feeble, false hearts can; 
But in humility before 
The power that bars my prison door 

I plead as man to man. 

Oft folly more than vice appears 

In errors we have made, 
The ideal that the man reveres 
Is not the dream of early years — 

Youth's brief delusions' fade. 

Though hearts embittered still retain 

20 



A grudge for old mistakes, 
Excessive penalties are vain — 
The long monotony of pain 

No restitution makes. 

The ancient eye for eye decree 

God has Himself destroyed; 
Still speaks that Voice from Calvary, 
Shall Shylocks with their ghoulish plea 

Make this commandment void? 

Ay, blessed are the merciful; 

Oh, Christian heart, relent! 
For sins of folly, faults of will, 
I kneel at Mercy's tribunal 

A contrite penitent. 

Long have I been with Sorrow. Long 

The agonizing years 
Have held no freight of love, and song 
And laughter — only pain and wrong, 

And penitence and tears. 

The coarse soul but lightly feels 

The daily dole of ill; 
But what distress each hour reveals 
For him who in the heart conceals 

Some aspirations still! 

For home and love, for liberty 

To toil as free men can, 
Oh Hand of Fate that bars to me 
The gates of Opportunity, 

I plead, as man to man. 

"Why, that man should be free and attached to the 
editorial staff of some magazine," remarked Governor 
Hoch, in commenting on the case after he had familiar- 
ized himself with Arnold's accomplishments. 

The two young men in prison had been together in 
Oklahoma, then but recently opened to settlement, and 
were returning to the homes of their parents in one 
of the Western Kansas counties adjoining Edwards, of 

21 



which Kinsley is the county seat. When they reached 
Kinsley, where they camped for the night, both were out 
of money. They held up Mayor Marsh, with the inten- 
tion of robbing him. Marsh resisted and was killed. 
Whether Arnold or Harvey killed the mayor has never 
been definitely established. 

The two young men were captured the next morning 
and narrowly escaped lynching. They would have been 
lynched had it not been for the assurance of Samuel W. 
Vandivert, then district judge at Kinsley, but now a prac- 
tising attorney in New York. Judge Vandivert made 
speedy arrangements for the trial of Arnold and Harvey, 
sentenced them to death and pledged the angry citizens 
that he would come to Topeka and personally insist that 
Governor Morrill sign the death warrant for the execu- 
tion of the two young men. This for a time allayed 
sentiment and prevented mob violence. 

Judge Vandivert did visit Governor Morrill and insist 
that the death penalty be imposed, but Governor Morrill 
would not sign the warrant. People at Kinsley were 
greatly incensed at the Governor, and the intense feeling 
against Arnold and Harvey has never subsided. 

Governor Hoch, intensely interested in Arnold, felt 
that the sentiment at Kinsley was largely based on re- 
sentment and was revengeful in nature. With this spirit 
in the treatment of criminals he has little or no patience. 
Believing that both young men will make good citizens 
he has commuted their sentences to eighteen years in the 
penitentiary each. In speaking of Arnold's case, Gover- 
nor Hoch said: 

"My attention was first attracted to Arnold by his 
book. When I next visited Lansing I asked to see him, 
curious to know the manner of man who had written so 
well. At first meeting he did not impress me greatly. 
A few days after my return to Topeka I received a let- 
ter from him which reawakened my interest, as it indi- 
cated the man's mentality." 

The letter received by Governor Hoch from Arnold, 
now a part of the pardon files at the executive office, is 
as follows: 

"Dear Governor: Being an emotional fool, I could 
profit but little by the interview with which you favored 
me, and therefore beg that Portia be given an audience, 

22 



though I know that her thought is not new to you. If 
I cannot obtain a release under a Governor whose atti- 
tude in regard to prisoners seems to me ideal, I shall 
indeed lose hope. Yours respectfully, Carl Arnold." 

To the letter were attached the following lines from 
the great trial scene in the "Merchant of Venice": 

The quality of mercy is not strained, 

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 

Upon the place beneath; it is twiced blessed; 

It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes; 

'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes 

The throned monarch better than his crown; 

His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 

The attribute to awe and majesty, 

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; 

It is an attribute to God Himself, 

And earthly power doth then show likest God's, 

When mercy seasons justice. 

Within a few days after the receipt of his letter one of 
Arnold's poems, entitled, "Man to Man," was placed in 
the hands of Governor Hoch by the convict's mother. 

Arnold had taught a school one term when he started 
on the trip to Oklahoma which ended with the tragedy at 
Kinsley, but his education was meagre. When he first 
went to Lansing as a convict he was employed in the 
penitentiary mine. From the outset he was a good pris- 
oner. Good behavior won him a place in the prison 
tailor shop. It was then his study and development be- 
gan. 

Noticing his thirst for knowledge and taste for litera- 
ture, the chaplain became interested in Arnold and ob- 
tained his transfer to employment in the library. Arnold 
was employed in the library for nearly six years and 
every spare hour was devoted to either reading or writ- 
ing. Writing the book, "The Kansas Inferno," and 
smuggling the manuscript out for publication through a 
discharged convict got Arnold in his first trouble with 
the prison authorities and finally caused his removal 
from the library back to his old place in the tailor shop 

For months after the book was published the prison 
officials could not determine its authorship, but it was 

23 



finally fastened on Arnold. They found little or no fault 
with the book itself, as it deals only with the prison sys- 
tem, sticks closely to facts and does not show personal 
prejudices, but the violation of the rules in smuggling 
the manuscript out could not be overlooked and cost 
Arnold many privileges he had enjoyed. 

The book was written at odd times. The difficulties 
under which Arnold worked will be understood when it 
is considered that he was constantly under the surveil- 
lance during the five years he worked on the book, but 
no officer discovered what he was doing. In his intro- 
ductory Arnold makes the following slight reference to 
the difficulties under which he labored while preparing 
his manuscript: 

"If this book is wanting in literary merit, the author 
can plead his lack of natural ability, the defects of a self- 
educated mind and the fact that the book was written 
in odd moments saved from the almost constant toil of 
penal servitude and under the most depressing circum- 
stances imaginable." 

Arnold is quite proud of the book now and frequently 
refers to his authorship. In the book are given the daily 
routine of prison life, descriptions of the penitentiary, 
the various manners of employment, punishments and 
rewards, interspersed with observations regarding the ad- 
vantages and weaknesses of the whole Kansas prison 
system, as viewed by a convict. In his concluding chap- 
ter Arnold makes a number of interesting recommenda- 
tions for the betterment of a prison. The striking feat- 
ure of the matter is that with one exception the recom- 
mendations have been adopted. No provision has yet 
been made to pay convicts the profits accruing from 
their labor, less the cost of their maintenance, which 
Arnold advocated in his book. Regarding this matter 
Arnold wrote in his book: 

"As noted in a previous chapter, the most expedient 
and certain way to reform a prisoner is through an ap- 
peal to his self-interest. As surely as you can convince 
him that honesty and industry will promote his personal 
happiness, so surely you can reform him. Experience — 
the universal experience of a hundred years — has amply 
demonstrated that he cannot be so convinced with ser- 
mons and tracts, mingled with beatings and torture; 

24 



then appeal to his understanding by a sort of object 
lesson that he cannot fail to understand; let him see and 
feel the benefits of the course you would have him pur- 
sue. 

"By giving the prisoner the profit of his labor, you 
will give him an absorbing interest and pleasure in his 
work, for which he now feels only a sensation of hate — 
the fury of the bond slave. You will encourage him, open 
before his dull eyes a new world of which he knows but 
little; for the average criminal is familiar enough with 
poverty and hard shift, but with him the responsibilities 
of property and the infinite delight of ownership are un- 
tried. Under the regenerate force of such conditions his 
comparative estimate of things will be altered, and it will 
soon dawn on him that the best dollar is the honest dol- 
lar, and that the returns of honesty and industry are 
more to be desired than the delusive fruits of crime that 
delight for a brief moment a depraved palate and then 
invariably turn to ashes and bitterness." 

Arnold has as yet made no definite plans for the future 
beyond a determination to spend several months with his 
mother, who resides at Kansas City. "I do not know 
what I will do," he said at the prison. "My time will not 
be up for several months. I know little or nothing of 
the outside world now. Nearly fifteen years have brought 
many changes to a society I did not then understand. 
I think I understand it now, but I will make no plans un- 
til I have opportunity to look around and convince myself 
that I am doing the best thing. First of all, though, I 
must visit a good long time with my mother. She has 
been my firmest, most faithful friend. 

Harvey attracts much less attention than Arnold. He 
has less mental capacity and has read less. Still he is 
equipped to make his way well when released from prison. 
During his confinement he has learned two trades. He is 
9 first-class printer and is said to be the best cabinet- 
maker ever developed at Lansing. He expects to find 
work at the latter trade immediately after his release. 

Thus Carl Arnold and William Harvey will escape from 
a prison in mortal life, and you may rest assured they 
will never become spirits in prison when death shall 
have summoned them to a higher sphere in the realm 

25 



of souls. The divine light has penetrated their very inner 
being most beautifully, and in the future they will BE 
GOOD, they will DO GOOD and thus fulfill the law un- 
derlying the constructive principles of Nature throughout 
all the regions of space. 

If you are selfish, ever receiving but never giving, al- 
ways deaf to those vibrations that come from a despair- 
ing soul in deep distress, then you are gradually building 
a spirit prison for yourself. If you are a miser, hoarding 
your wealth for your own special enjoyment, never listen- 
ing to the tender, pathetic appeals for Charity, then by 
degrees you are constructing a prison for yourself in the 
land of souls. If you devote your whole life to sin, to 
murder, rapine, and violence, and are a degenerate, then 
you are weaving your own spirit bars that will confine 
you in the realm of souls to a desolate, inhospitable plane, 
and in the course of time you will be blotted out of ex- 
istence. You can in earth life build a spirit prison for 
yourself on the spirit side of existence, or you can by 
BEING GOOD and DOING GOOD construct for yourself 
a Mansion in the realm of souls which in beauty and 
grandeur surpasses the loftiest imagination of any earth- 
ly mortal. The lesson is before you; immortality and fu- 
ture bliss and advancement will be your heritage if you 
so choose; but if your depravity reaches to degeneracy, 
then your final extinguishment as a mortal being will 
surely follow. Choose this day which road you will take. 



26 



TAKE AN INVENTORY OP YOUR SOUL. 



i. 

The wind was blowing through the streets with the 
fierceness of March, though the calendar said it was April, 
says the Christian Union. A timid, uncertain ring brought 
a member of the household to the door, who found stand- 
ing on the stoop an old woman. Her dress gave every 
evidence of self-respecting poverty. Her face was wrink- 
led, but as though kindly smiles and sympathetic tears 
had been the tools used by Father Time to etch her life 
history thereon. 

"Duzza a lady named live here?" The name 

was so mispronounced that it was asked again, and then 
hurriedly followed the reason of the call: "She did not 
send this letther to the right place, shure! This place is 
a coal yard, shure; nobody lives at a coal yard," she 
interjected, seemingly astonished that the location of 
the coal yard was not known. "This letther," she con- 
tinued, holding out a letter the listener recognized as 
having been mailed the evening before, "the postman 
gave me to-day. Sometimes I resave a letther — not often, 
though. I live at 52 and this is 122, and I tore it open, 
never looking, and when I read it, and it was to a milliner 
to come and make a hat, sez I to meself, 'Shure this is 
Friday, now, and the lady will be disappointed, she want- 
in' her hat for Sunday; and I'll just go over and tell 
her, as she didn't know how to direct the letther,' and 
then I thought maybe" — and here an appealing look 
came into the kindly face, an entreating tone into the 
voice — "I was afeared that some gurl, who would be glad 
of the work, would lose it, bekase the lady thought as 
how she didn't attind to her business; and ye know she 
couldn't shure, if she didn't git yer letther." 

The listener stood dumb. A walk of over a mile in 
that raw, fierce wind, to benefit two people whom she 
had never seen! 

"You are very kind," began the Jistener. 
27 



"Shure, what else are we here fer but kindness? 'Deed, 
it might make a great difference, all round; for if the 
gurl got this work, she might get more, and ye might 
not be so happy if ye did not have yer hat. I've seen a 
time I cared; it don't matter now, I'm old. I've got 
nothin' to do now but the little things; me stren'th is 
gone, but not me heart, thank God! That's where it 
ever was. D'ye think ye can find the gurl, and give her 
the work? Shure, I'd be glad to hunt for her; I've lived 
on that street thirty years. Could I find her for ye, d'ye 
think? She'd have time to make it to-morry, Saturday, 
and then ye'd both be happy." And the kindly face was 
full of hope and interest. 

And only the day before the world seemed so inhuman, 
so very indifferent whether a brother stood firm or fell 
by the wayside! The kindly, shabby figure went down the 
street, never dreaming of the lesson she had taught. 

What a grand and beautiful lesson of life is presented 
in the above, one that thrills the soul with pleasurable 
emotions. Here was an old woman — one who could not 
speak the English language correctly, and whose personal 
appearance showed that she was from the lower walks 
of life, yet she was imbued with feelings that were really 
angelic. In this world of ours, it is very rare that you 
see a purely unselfish act, one where self is entirely for- 
gotten, and the good of some poor, forlorn soul, the only 
end sought. 



II. 
An Old Man, venerable with the fruitage of nearly a 
century, was sitting one evening in the door of his vine- 
clad cottage, contemplating the beauty and grandeur of 
creation, and wondering what was really essential to 
attain salvation. A gentle shower had been falling, and 
all nature seemed to be tinged with colors that were espe- 
cially borrowed, seemingly, from heaven for the occasion. 
The smile of one of God's angels could not have been 
richer than the expression of nature on that eventful 
evening, as this Old Man was contemplating the best 
means to attain heaven. The overhanging vines cluster- 
ing around his cottage, and the pendent drops of rain 
from leaf and branch, illuminated with the hues of the 
rainbow, were scenes that made a deep impression on 

28 



his mind. The very air was rich in the fragrance of 
fruit and flower, and all things in the material world 
seemed to radiate a divine influence. This venerable per- 
sonage was standing on the divide that separates the two 
worlds, considering a momentous question — the best 
means to attain salvation. As far as his eyes could see 
were rolling fields of grain, extensive orchards bending 
under loads of luscious fruit, and large herds of cattle 
feeding in green pastures. Standing in the sunset of his 
life, rich in this world's goods, his mind became suddenly 
awakened, that at no distant day he must take his de- 
parture to the spiritual realms. He pondered the situa- 
tion well. He had large possessions here; would he 
have the like there? 

He had a vine-clad cottage here, surrounded by flower- 
beds, lawns and fountains; would he be as highly fa- 
vored there? 

The world that sunset evening was beautiful to him, 
and all things glistened with a roseate hue; would life 
in the future be equally as pleasant? 

He said to this one "go," to another "come," and they 
obeyed him; would he have servants over there? 

Thus he contemplated as he stood on the divide that 
separates the seen from the unseen. He had been strictly 
honest here, and his whole life in that respect had been 
above reproach. As he looked at a flower-arbored grave 
at his left, his mind turned towards a lovely wife, and 
he wondered whether she, too, would meet him in the 
celestial regions. 

It is natural for the aged to contemplate such things 
as they stand on the divide, where you must stand, where 
I must stand, where all must sometime stand. 

When one commences to contemplate self, to scrutinize 
self, to analyze self, to look within and see the contents 
of the soul, then there is hope for such a person. This 
old man had become suddenly awakened, and was in- 
clined to take an inventory of self; just as you should 
do; just as everybody should do, and see to what extent 
one is prepared for heaven. And then, while meditating, the 
mist gathered over the setting sun, and a radiance shone 
therefrom that fell upon the green pastures, the golden 
fields of grain, the rich fruitage of tree and vine, and a 

29 



cloud of rainbow-tinted light fell like a benediction across 
the grave of his devoted wife. All nature had been kind 
to him; of crops he never had a failure, epidemics had 
escaped his flocks, and his granaries were never empty. 
How bountiful Nature had been to him! What had he 
done to merit all this which had been so benignly show- 
ered upon him. 

Was he bountiful towards others? 

No! 

Was his charitable hand ever extended? 

No! 

Did he ever strive to lighten the load of even one of 
earth's children? 

No! 

Did he ever take especial pains to utter encouraging 
words to one of earth's poor struggling mortals? 

Never ! 

Had he ever consented to bear some of the hard bur- 
dens of others? 

Not so far as he could remember! 

Was there any one, so far as he knew, who would deep- 
ly regret his death? 

Probably not! 

Did he ever send forth kind thoughts towards those 
who are struggling with poverty? 

He had not time even for that! 



III. 

As this Old Man continued to take an inventory of the 
treasures of his soul, and found none, in utter despair, 
his head resting on a dainty pillow of the chair, he fell 
into a profound slumber, and he experienced a remark- 
able dream. A venerable sage stood by his side clothed 
in a robe of dazzling brightness and purity. His counte- 
nance was all aglow with a divine expression of love, 
and his voice was musically sweet and tender: "My 
friend, I see that thou hast been taking an inventory of 
thy soul-treasures — treasures that can only enrich thee in 
spirit-life. Find'st there any?" 

"Nay, Master," responded the wealthy magnate. "I 
find not even one treasure! Alas! Alas! I am lost! 

30 



I have never done one purely unselfish act, and shall pass 
to the celestial regions poor indeed!" 

"Look in the distance! What see'st thou?" 

"Old Mother Hemstead's home — poor, old, poverty- 
stricken woman," responded he in tremulous voice. 

"She is stricken with sickness; sorrow broods over her 
little household. A dark cloud is there, and as pure a 
soul as ever lived is prostrated on a bed of sickness. She 
nursed you when sick with small-pox." 

"Yes, Master." 

"And your wife, too, whose body is lying in yon flower- 
embowered grave?" 

"Yes, Master, and she did it well." 

"And when your two children were sick with scarlet 
fever, nigh unto death, she watched them tenderly, and 
it was her healing magnetism that saved them?" 

"Yes, yes, poor woman, she was an angel to them." 

"And when the cattle broke into your field of grain 
the other night, she hastened over to inform you, and 
you simply returned a cold thank you!" 

"It is as you state." 

"Your soul is as barren as the wild, arid waste. You 
have, so far as I can see, no treasures in heaven, and 
you will go there a pauper, spiritually. You have taken 
an inventory of your soul and find nothing to your credit 
of any value." 

"But, dear Master, what shall T do to be saved?" 
"As one having authority, as a supreme judge, you 
stand before me self-convicted, and the sentence is self- 
imposed. I do not condemn you; you do that yourself. 
I shall leave you soon. Pure, unselfish acts only receive 
the recognition of the wise sages of spirit-life; they 
alone are your only treasures in the spiritual realm. Go 
back to your possessions on earth; think kindly of every- 
body; send forth thoughts beaming with charity; let 
every aspiration scintillate with love for all humanity. 
Encourage the disheartened; assist the one fallen by the 
wayside. Ever have a kind word for those in distress. 
Let your life be as bountiful as this outpouring of nature 
on this beautiful evening. I now leave you with my 
benediction and blessing." 

31 



IV. 

The Old Man then awakened from his trance-like state 
and gazed vacantly around him. The sun had set, and 
gradually the drapery of night was encircling his posses- 
sions. He passed over to the grave of his wife, and bend- 
ing low, in tremulous tone he said: 

"My darling Mary lies there; there my two children, 
who died in infancy." With tear-stained eyes, and voice 
heaving with emotion, and hands uplifted heavenward, 
he consecrated his life, his fortune, his all to humanity! 
and then he wept over his darling's grave, regretting 
that he had never been aroused before to see his duty, 
and do it. 

Going to the house, he ordered the servant to procure 
his horse and carriage, and he drove rapidly to town, to 
the residence of the leading physician and ordered him 
to attend to the sickness of old Mother Hemstead. 

"Oh!" replied the doctor, "I guess she can wait until 
morning, or until I get ready. These charity cases are 
very troublesome." 

"This is not a charity case. Go at once and I will pay 
you." 

Thus fortified the physician went to test his skill on 
one who was sick nigh unto death, and who had been 
sorely neglected. - 

The Old Man hastened to the grocery, and obtaining 
a good store of delicacies, such as the sick require, and 
procuring a nurse, he hastened to the humble cottage 
of old Mother Hemstead. The physician was there when 
he arrived, and that lonely cottage was illuminated with 
a light divine. Radiant beings, all aglow with God-like 
qualities, and who had been instrumental in awakening 
the Old Man from his deeply seated lethargy, were there 
bending low over a lovely scene which was being enacted 
by the children of earth. 

Old Mother Hemstead was poor, very poor, and to have 
this noble outburst of kindness from one whom she re- 
garded as hard-hearted, gave her a new lease of life, and 
she rapidly recovered, and thereafter arrangements were 
made by the Old Man that all her simple wants should be 
supplied during the remainder of her life. From that 
time his whole career was changed. He received a bap- 

32 



tism from heaven. His vast possessions were dispensed 
with a charitable hand, and every thought and act of his 
life was purely unselfish. 

Take an inventory of your soul now. Have you to- 
day, yesterday, last month, or at any time during the 
year, done a purely unselfish act? Have you lightened 
'the burdens of any one? Have you cheered some care- 
worn heart? Have you sent forth kind thoughts to enrich 
the moral atmosphere? If not active in those directions, 
then you must be spiritually deficient; and you will find 
yourself poor indeed when you shall have been ushered 
into the world above. Take an inventory of your soul- 
deeds to-day and act accordingly. 



THE LIPE AIND DEATH OP TIM 



"Don't let the song go out of your life; 

Though it chance sometime to (low 
In a minor strain, it will blend again, 

With the major tone you know. 
What though shadows rise to obscure life's skies. 

And hide for a time the sun; 
They sooner will lift and reveal the rift 

If you let the melody run. 

Don't let the song go out of your life, 

Though your life may have lost its thrill; 
Though the tremulous note should die in your throat, 

Let it sing in your spirit still. 
There is never a pain that hides not some gain. 

And never a cup of rue 
So bitter to sup but what in the cup 

Lurks a measure of sweetness too. 

— Kate R. Stiles. 
33 



As set forth by H. Belloe in the London Post, sailors 
sing. They have a song for work and songs for every 
part of their work, and they have songs of reminiscence 
and of tragedy, and many farcical songs; some brutal 
songs, songs of repose and songs in which is packed the 
desire for a distant home. Soldiers also sing, at least 
in those armies where soldiers are still soldiers. And 
th9 line, which is the core and body of any army, is 
the most singing of them all. Those men who marched 
behind Caesar in his triumph sang a song and the words 
of it still remain; the armies of Louis XIV. and of Na- 
poleon, of the Republic and even of Algiers, made songs 
of their own which have passed into the great treasury 
of European letter*. 

They sang in that march which led men to the assault 
at Hastings, for it was written by those who saw the 
column of knights advancing to the foot of the hill that 
Taillefer was chosen for his great voice and rode before 
the host, tossing his sword into the air and catching it 
again by the hilt (a difficult thing to do), and singing 
of Charlemagne and of the vassals who had died under 
Roncesvalles. 

Song also illustrates and strengthens and vivifies all 
common life, and on this account what is left of our peas- 
antry have harvest songs, and there are songs for mow- 
ing and songs for the midwinter rest, and there is even 
a song in the south of England for the gathering of honey. 

Indeed, all men sing at their labor, or would so sing did 
not dead convention forbid them. You will say there 
are exceptions, as lawyers, usurers and officers; but there 
are no exceptions to this rule where all the man is work- 
ing and is working well and is producing and is not 
ashamed. Rowers sing, and their song is called barca- 
role; and even men holding the tiller who have nothing 
to do but hold it tend to sing a song. And I will swear 
to this, that I have heard stokers when they were hard 
pressed starting a sort of crooning chorus together, which 
shows that there is hope for us all." 

Without songs, without music, without their soul-stir- 
ring vibrations passing through the atmosphere, scintillat- 
ing, seemingly, with smiles from the Infinite Himself, 

34 



all things would become a barren waste, and human 
beings be reduced in the course of time to savagery. 
There is soul-sweetness in music, an emotion therein that 
seems to cast choice flowers in one's pathway, as one 
journeys along with a "song in his life" that renders joy- 
ous every moment of fleeting time. It is said that on 
one occasion in this city Minnie Cultra, a cripple, 14 years 
old, known as "Little Sunshine," an angelic name, typical 
of beauty and joy, and without technical musical train- 
ing, proved to be the star attraction at a recital on one 
occasion in the Fine Arts building, even though a num- 
ber of well known musicians appeared on the same pro- 
gram. 

The recital was given by the pupils of Mrs. Charles L. 
Krum for the benefit of the Fallon School for Crippled 
Children. Five hundred patronesses of the school and 
friends of Mrs. Krum and her pupils were present, as 
well as forty-two crippled children, who occupied boxes. 

Minnie Cultra — arms, legs, and body paralyzed — was 
carried on the stage and sang the old song, "There Is a 
Green Hill Far Away." Tears came to the eyes of nearly 
every auditor, choice echoes from minds that had been 
awakened. One woman became half hysterical as she 
listened to the soul-enchanting tune, and was helped from 
the hall. 

There was a foretaste of heaven in the sublime soul of 
Minnie Cultra, and that foretaste bore golden fruitage, 
exalting aspirations, and for a time on the above occa- 
sion she seemed to be in "tune with the Infinite," if that 
were possible. She must, at least, have been encircled in 
the sympathetic, loving arms and cheering embrace of 
some Angel of Light and Love from the Sphere of Divine 
Poesy and Music, thus indicating that cripples should be 
tenderly cared for. Yes, "There is a green hill far Away"' 
for little Minnie Cultra, and when her lovely spirit shall 
have broken away from the shackles that bind it to earth 
she will see that "green hill," and the enchanting scenes 
of Paradise, and enjoy spiritual luxuries of which the 
nabobs of earth never dreamed, and which they can not 
enjoy until they shall have progressed to the same spirit- 
ual plane on the spirit side of life. 

35 



Here is another peculiar case. Timothy Carroll's soul 
was brimful of music. He was not famous as a musician 
yet he was recognized, however, as having a charming 
baritone voice, as full of poetic fragrance, as a flower is 
of the essence of sweetness and purity. Tim, as he was 
called, was a cripple, and so badly deformed in some re- 
spects that he often said, "I feel ashamed of myself." 
Only on one occasion did he ever appear on the stage at 
any theatre, and then he sang "Home, Sweet Home," 
his own peculiar rendition, his own sentiments, his own 
pathetic appeal for a "home, sweet home." His voice, 
tremulous with tender emotions that seemed to flow 
into his soul from some dear sweet angel, illuminating it 
with a divine light and pathos,brought tears from his rural 
audience, and while he was singing nearly every eye in 
this country gathering was moved to tears. And when 
an audience is moved to tears by sympathetic vibrations 
that come laden with an angelic influence, apparently de- 
rived from the "Gardens of the Gods," one can then real- 
ize that a divine chord of human nature has been ten- 
derly struck, and bears fruitage from the depths of the 
human soul. 

On that occasion Tim seemed to be transformed from 
a cripple into a messenger right from the Courts of 
Heaven. He sang his "Home, Sweet Home," his features 
illuminated with the soft, mellow glow of a soul in close 
touch with the radiance and beauty of all things divine 
in the highest spirit sphere. Thus it is that sometimes 
one who is uncultured, and even totally ignorant of the 
scale in music, gets into the hearts of people in song, and 
excites tender emotions. 

After this triumph in the country, Tim drifted to the 
city. He was occupying only a sort of mid-way station in 
music — a station always existing between those who are 
uncultured, and those like Mozart or Beethoven; there 
nature had placed him, and he naturally drifted towards 
saloons, brothels, house of ill-fame and low places of 
resort generally, under the thought he could do good 
there. A strange combination was Tim, standing on this 
midway station — looking with supreme disgust and con- 
tempt at the crudeness, vileness and sinfulness on one 
side, and with joy at the culture, refinement and educa- 

36 



tion manifested on a plane higher, which he knew he 
could never reach while on this earth. The parlors of 
houses of sin he often frequented by special invitation, to 
sing, and a strange, uncanny fascination he exerted over 
the inmates. The songs and tunes were all his own; 
the words as pure as the aspirations of an angel; a medley 
of enchanting music that seemed to rivet the attention 
of the Magdalens, and they treated him with superstitious 
reverence and awe, and freely gave him contributions of 
their sin-tainted money, never failing to make other ap- 
pointments for him to call. 

Tim was never coarse or vulgar in these dens of infamy 
and sin. He never sang a ribald song there. Coarse and 
vulgar words never sprang from his lips to go forth as 
Imps of Darkness, to imperil the lives of others. 

Finally we must draw the curtain over the life of 
Tim. Stricken with a fatal disease, he was taken to a 
private hospital by a benevolent elderly gentleman, with 
instructions to tenderly care for him. 

Tim grew worse day by day; and in just that propor- 
tion or degree the spirit world drew nearer, and delight- 
ful phantoms, as he called them, clustered around his 
bed, and bouquets of ffowers, phantoms though they were 
to him, seemed to exhale an aroma that was delightful 
to inhale, giving him a foretaste of the beautiful gardens 
in spirit life where angels walk, where poets weave their 
soul enchanting rhymes, where wise sages congregate to 
talk of fairy Nature and her atoms, molecules, vibrations, 
and ultimate perfection in all evolutionary processes. 

Tim was gradually dying, and his presence in the hos- 
pital seemed to fascinate the nurses, the physicians and 
those in attendance from day to day. They bent over him 
with a tender pathos in their faces and sweet vibrations 
in their finger tips as they administered nourishment From 
time to time. The physician said he could not live — 
"might die at any time." 

It was a beautiful spring day; the trees were Bending 
out their buds and flowers to be kissed by the sunshine 
and to be baptized by the heaven-born dewdrops. Tim 
from his window opening towards the west, could see the 
clambering vinos and the trees and flowers, bathed in the 
sunshine a.s Day was retiring to give place to the 

37 



gemmed Night. All at once the dying man, with a face 
illuminated with an angelic halo, sat upright in bed, 
as if under spirit influence, and commenced singing, his 
baritone voice, thrillingly sweet, as if he had borrowed a 
tune and verses from some angelic minstrel who only 
sang in the Gardens of the Gods. For a few minutes 
only nurses, physicians and attendants stood with bowed 
heads and tear-stained eyes as they listened to this dying 
man's wonderful voice, and just as the setting sun was 
casting its retiring rays on his cot, and the soulful vibra- 
tions of his voice were going forth laden with the rich 
fruitage of love, purity and charity, he fell back on his 
cot and passed to the realms of souls, with his features 
aglow with an angelic light — a scene never to be for- 
gotten. Thus Tim passed away; a frequenter of saloons, 
dens of vice and houses of ill-repute, yet as pure as an 
Angel of Light and Love. We had rather be Tim, living 
off of so-called tainted money obtained in houses of sin, 
and sending forth in his rich baritone voice an influence 
that had redeemed many souls, than to be a wealthy 
nabob, reveling in wealth and the gross pleasures of a 
sin-soiled soul — a soul destitute wholly of the ennobling 
qualities possessed now by the immortal Tim. 

"Don't let the- song go out of your life!" 

It never can go, if you will THINK GOOD, BE GOOD, 
and DO GOOD in all the walks of life, and follow the 
teachings of these HOME CIRCLE SERMONS. 

38 



THE IDEAL NURSE IN AN IDEAL WORK. 



Each one who is ushered into this life with its sun- 
shine and storms, should realize that he is a SOUL* 
BUILDER, a builder of an angel or a devil, and should 
have blooming in his nature the flowers of goodness, 
charity, self-sacrifice, and love towards all humanity. As 
sunshine evolves our coal beds and many other things 
that serenely smile in Nature, so should each one un- 
fold traits of character that go forth like rays of light 
for the benefit of all. 

Whoever you are, wherever you are, and whatever you 
are, you are the sole architect of your own character, 
and can mould it as you please. You are indeed a SOUL- 
BUILDEB, and if you act in accordance with Divine 
Laws your whole nature will expand with a sublime ra- 
diance, revealing the angel within to the external world. 
The flower with its winsome expression in rainbow tinted 
colors, a veritable Queen of Beauty, will, when plucked, 
retain its fragrance as long in the home of the thief or 
Magdalen, as in the palace of a king. The food the thief 
eats adds lustre to his eyes and strength to his muscles, 
just the same as it would if eaten by a multimillionaire. 
Nature smiles approvingly on all in the external world, 
leaving each one to utilize her gifts as they see fit in 
SOUL-BUILDING. When divested of its material cover- 
ing, the soul stands forth just as you have constructed it 
— either laden with the grand, lovely, outbursting fruitage 
of angelic qualities, or somewhat dwarfed, or divested, it 
may be, altogether of angelic traits, a miserable, distorted 
specimen of your own handiwork as connected with earth- 
life. 

You are your own artisan, your own architect, your own 
agent in your own SOUL-BUILDING, in shaping your fu- 
ture destiny. You can not become a soul-builder unless 
you have material therefor, and you must furnish the 
same, just as the tree furnishes its own leaves; just as 
the tiny stem produces its own flowers; just as the 

39 



sky weaves its own rainbow; just as the peach tree 
sends forth its blossoms, then its sweet perfume, and then 
its own precious fruit; just as the seed or rootlet becomes 
a clambering vine, with flowers nestling thereon as if 
the thoughts of angels. In the same manner and by the 
same divine impulse, your life must bear as its buds, its 
blossoms, its flowers, and its rich fruitage, kindly thoughts, 
pure aspirations, divine impulses, charitable deeds and 
loving kindness. 

To become a SOUL-BUILDER, acceptable in the sight 
of angels, your whole life must vibrate with good deeds, 
and be a perennial fountain, from which flows kind, char- 
itable thoughts and acts, assisting some one less fortunate 
than self. As the golden grains of wheat, fanned by genial 
winds, heaven's health-giving breath, and moistened by 
rains that come because of Nature's call, are developed 
into health-giving properties as you eat the same, chang- 
ing to lustre in your eyes, changing to rosy tints on the 
face, changing to crimson blood, and the beautiful flesh 
that nestles on the cheek of maiden, so lovely, so capti- 
vating — and to the same degree will "living for others" 
in the highest and holiest sense of those words, render 
your soul grandly beautiful, you the SOUL-BUILDER, 
the architect of what will be yours in the future. 

As illustrating one of the many phases of SOUL- 
BUILDING, the life of Mrs. Jane Elliott, of New York, 
affords an example. When she passed to spirit life, her 
last cent exhausted, she left a letter clutched in her 
hands, to whom addressed no one then knew: 

"My Dear One: I have written to you before of a 
strange dream I had; it might have been a spirit vision, 
induced by some angelic messenger, a sort of telephone 
message from an exalted home in heaven, where thoughts 
bear a divine incense that seem to add a delicate sweet- 
ness to the perfume of the flowers, and the smiles of the 
angels therein. Be that as it may I seemed to be in 
that home, representing what I had made of myself. I 
looked before me, as in a mirror, and saw a strange be- 
ing, how divinely beautiful! A glow on the face as if the 
brilliancy of the diamond had been dipped in the scintil- 
lating colors of the rainbow at the morning dawn, and 
transferred to the beaming features, so radiant, so di- 

40 



vinely beautiful! And the eyes, what charms therein, as 
they seemed to glisten, just as if some angel had illum- 
inated them with thoughts that vibrated in harmony with 
the wisest sages of spirit life, just as nature vibrates in 
the flower, producing its rainbow tints and choice per- 
fume. I gazed steadily at this Angel of Light, with in- 
tense admiration, and as I ardently wished that I could 
stand forth so angelic, reflecting so beautifully all that 
one could desire, my dear, angelic mother stood by my 
side, and said: 'My daughter, you are looking in a mirror 
and seeing yourself. Look at your body in the bed on 
earth. The hectic flush on your face, your cheeks shrunk- 
en, as if eaten away by disease, a sickly, worn out body. 
On earth you are now pinched by poverty, and every emo- 
tion of your life is tear-stained, as you survey the world 
in its selfishness. You have lived for others. Your life 
currents have flowed to others, as the sap of the tree flows 
to nourish the buds, then the blossoms, then the golden 
fruitage thereon. Your aspirations, your work and sacri- 
fices for others have produced the angelic creature you 
saw, a perfect reflection of your real spirit self. In the 
hospitals, in charitable institutions, in poverty-stricken 
homes, in the capacity of a nurse, and in unselfishly min- 
istering to the wants of the suffering and dying, you have 
produced the angel you saw in the mirror, unsuspectedly 
to you a reflection of yourself. Go back to earth, and 
in that worn-out body you will only survive for a few 
days.' My dear, dear one, thus in a dream, a vision, or 
in a sweet something that I can not explain, which touched 
in some mysterious way my soul-chords, I had this ex- 
perience. At one time you were tenderly dear to me. 
My whole being was bathed in the sunshine of your love, 
and as you lovingly kissed me and pressed me to your 
heart, I felt supremely happy. There were then no tear- 
stains upon my soul; no skeletons of sorrow in the closet. 
no black outlook vibrating with sobs and moans, mid 
weird images of dark despair. The world was sweet, and 
precious, and lovely then, with you by my side, with 
you in my life, in my thoughts, in my love, in my dreams. 
Your kisses were then precious lo inc. and your words 
of cheering love vibrated in my soul as if they bad angelic 
sweetness and purity. Home then was overflowing with 

41 



the flowers of happiness, bearing as an incense the su- 
preme love of unsullied souls. But this only lasted for 
a time, when you were wooed away from my side ani 
home by the selfish wiles of a siren. But I tenderly cher- 
ished the recollection of our happy home, and you my 
ideal, my precious one, on whom I lavished all the af- 
fections of my soul, — I could not forget you even when 
you fell prostrate into the hands of another, and have 
ever considered you my dear, precious companion, even 
though now in the selfish embrace of a woman of the 
world, a Magdalen, a siren with charms of poisonous be- 
wildering attractions. In imagination with my arms 
around your neck, and with my cheek pressed to your 
lips I live my life over" — 

That was the unfinished letter found clutched with 
a death like grasp in the hand of Mrs. Jane Elliott. It 
appears from the history given her at the time that she 
had devoted her small fortune in relieving the distress of 
others, and was known as the Angel Nurse, as she was 
so kind, so exquisitely tender and sympathetic when min- 
istering to others. From the letter it appears she had 
been married, but was abandoned by her husband, for 
whom she seemed to retain an undying affection, a sort 
of ideal dream that had never been realized in its com- 
pleteness. 

Jane Elliott was a SOUL-BUILDER, her generous, self- 
sacrificing nature, ennobling virtues, high and holy aspir- 
ations, and her pursuit of happiness through kindly deeds 
and charitable acts in an ideal work for the poor and un- 
fortunate, had made her the veritable angel which she 
saw reflected in her vision, and which she mistook for 
some one distinct from herself. If you wish to build a 
soul of the fine texture and ideal nature of Jane Elliott, 
banish selfishness, and live in a world where the only 
object is to DO GOOD and BE GOOD. 

42 



TRY TO RENDER YOUR SOUL LUMINOUS. 



How true it is that no one should live for himself alone. 
Nature points out a magnificent lesson. The tree, if it 
could talk, would not say, "I am independent of the 
earth;" the leaves would not say, "We are in no wise de- 
pendent on the body of the tree." The buds thereon 
would not declare their independence, and set up a dis- 
tinct life of their own, for they soon turn into a beauti- 
ful flower, and then into luscious fruit, with its life-giving 
properties— all the result of the occult work of the soil, 
various gases, and sunshine, and which could not exist 
without moisture, rain, clouds, and various other agents 
too numerous to mention — each one dependent on all the 
others for its life and full development. The fruit-bear- 
ing tree has no degree of selfishness, unless held in abey- 
ance by selfish man. It says to all, "Come and partake 
of my fruit, inhale its divine aroma, taste its fine quali- 
ties and feel its nutriment as it tingles in the veins, and 
gives to the cheeks their healthy glow." 

Nature is wonderfully prodigal in har gifts, unless her 
powers are abridged by selfish man. In spite of him, how- 
ever, the aroma of the flowers in the garden of the miser, 
like a fairy, floats off on the breeze, and adds its precious 
qualities to the world at large. What nature has produced 
is for the benefit of all. No partiality in the morning 
sunshine glow. The sunset artist paints a picture of di- 
vine beauty in the West, whose iridescent colors and scin- 
tillations gladden and refresh all who see it. No miser- 
like qualities there. All nature emanates from the one 
universal reservoir; every human being can trace his 
physical life to that source of all things. The miser, the 
ingrate, the supremely selfish, and the millionaire, have 
taken an undue share of that reservoir of nature, and ap- 
propriated the same to self instead of the general good. 

The ideal man, the man who is in tune with the Infi- 
nite, as it were, and who acknowledges himself as only 
one part of the universal whole, is in kinship with all 

43 



others, only perhaps vibrating on a different plane. The 
ideal man (and what is true of him is also true of woman) 
is radiant with spiritual thoughts, with aspirations that are 
all aglow with angelic impulses, and whose pathway in life 
is illuminated by his own good deeds. The ideal man 
is SELF-LUMINOUS, and never shines by reflected light. 
Every good deed, every charitable thought, every high 
and holy aspiration, adds to that light of his soul, its in- 
herent luminosity. Such a man cannot be a King, an 
Emperor, a Sultan, a President or a High Official, be- 
cause they are controlled by a "Constitution," by a code of 
laws, or by court officers or advisers, and are in no sense 
SELF-LUMINOUS, but shine almost wholly by borrowed 
light, and that light is always flickering, evanescent, and 
never permanent. 

The true Saviors of the world — Buddha, Confucius, and 
many others— were SELF-LUMINOUS; but that LUMIN- 
OSITY is not like sunshine, like the electric illumination, 
or any earthly light — it is a divine glow, a radiance 
that is undefinable, a divine expression like the aroma of 
a flower, or the smile of the mother as she bends over 
her first born, singing a sweet lullaby song. This subtle 
LUMINOSITY exhibits your spiritual unfoldment, and in 
all cases fixes your status in spirit life. All souls are not 
LUMINOUS, for this" luminosity has only well defined 
source, it is merely the emanation or divine radiance that 
flows as naturally from good deeds and pure aspirations, 
as the perfume of the flowers rises in the morning dawn, 
sweetening the vanishing dewdrops as they ascend heaven- 
ward on rays of sunshine. The one with a divine radiance 
aglow in his whole nature, is never rich in this world's 
goods, for the hoarding of gold, for its sake alone, and 
the selfish pleasures it brings, produces darkness instead 
of light. The CHARACTER of a man determines his 
inherent LUMINOSITY, hence cultivate that in the right 
direction. The profound thinker Dr. Madison C. Peters 
says: 

"Character is a Greek word transferred, but not trans- 
lated, and means that which is cut in or marked, as the 
impress on stamps, coins, or seals, and reveals the quality 
of- the person or thing. 

"Although it represents a moral quality it can be taken 
44 



in a wider significance, as that which distinguishes a man 
in his general bearing towards others in his everyday life. 
In this respect it can be acquired and is much influenced 
by training and environment. 

"The laws of heredity exact their demands but to a great 
extent they can be modified by external surroundings. 
For instance, the child of savage parents cannot be ex- 
pected to possess that refinement which is the heritage 
of centuries of civilization and culture; however, by care- 
ful training and by force of companionship and good ex- 
ample it can be so molded as to develop but few of the 
traits of its ancestry. 

"Nature sometimes exhibits strange freaks in regard to 
character. We often find wayward children the offspring 
of exemplary parents, and vice versa. Often two brothers, 
in disposition and manners, are far apart as the poles. 

"Character is the fairest flower that blooms in the gar- 
den of life, but it is a sensitive plant and requires careful 
nursing. An unfavorable wind can chill and wither and 
dwarf its promise until it becomes an unsightly weed, 
offensive to all its surroundings. Good care and loving 
hands, however, can foster and nurture it into 'a thing 
of beauty and a joy forever.' 

"We fondly pay our tribute to the cherished ones who 
have passed away, we never weary of recounting their acts, 
and in spirit we fain would call them back to earth again. 
Their lovable and lovely characters enshrined them in 
our heart of hearts and joyfully, if we could, would we 
turn back the cycle of time, once more to listen to their 
wisdom and their counsel. 

"Who would not wish for the mighty Gladstone again, 
he who held the love and reverence of the entire world 
for his pure and blameless life, or the calm, patient Mc- 
Kinley, the man who showed us how to live, and taught 
us how to die, or the soft-voiced Tennyson, who struck 
Apollo's harp and evoked strains that will never be silent 
while language lives, or the sublime Beethoven who soared 
among angel choirs and brought their music down to 
earth? 

"The names of these splendid characters are Bounding 
down the corridors of time, calling upon us to follow 
in their footsteps by leading such lives as will reflect glory 

45 



upon ourselves and benefit on our kind. We may not be 
great as they, but we can be as upright and honorable. 

"Character is created by the exercise of moral power, 
the will to do that which is right and avoid that which is 
wrong. A scoundrel may have a fine reputation, but only 
the good man can have a good character. 

"Too often we are prone to think of character merely 
in the light of an asset for the world beyond the grave, 
but men, especially young men, should be impressed with 
the idea that character is temporal capital an»d a principal 
sure to yield better returns than any other. It is an invest- 
ment which remains unaffected by panics and failures, and 
always brings dividends profitable alike for this life and 
for that which is to come. 

"A good character is above titles and wealth, to be pre- 
ferred before power and fame. The work of building it 
is the noblest labor on earth, but the foundations must 
be laid firm and strong in early life lest the edifice crum- 
ble in the after time. The future must be kept in view, 
and not alone the future of time but that which merges 
into eternity, for on the temporal life depends the eternal. 

"To acquire the character which will stand him in good 
stead on all occasions and under his conscience a man 
must not flatter his conscience with silly sophistries which 
teach him that he is good enough and that nothing more 
is required of him. He must ever endeavor to be better 
than he is. Of course, he can never attain perfection, but 
he cannot remain stationary; he must either retrograde 
or advance. Advance, do your best to be a little higher to- 
day, a little stronger in character than you were yesterday, 
and to-morrow aim to be still further than you are to- 
day. 

"We need strong men, men of impregnable character, 
against the bulwarks of which the surges of the world's 
temptations shall lash themselves in vain. Banish all de- 
ceit, subterfuge and double dealing from your life, act on 
the square, be on the level, realizing, in the words of 
Emerson, that a man of character is appointed by Al- 
mighty God to stand for a fact." 

How true it is that our good deeds, our pure thoughts, 
our aspirations to grasp all that is true, noble and ele- 
vating in life, illuminate with an imcomparable sublime 

46 



.glow, or angelic light, the whole spiritual nature, pre- 
paring it for an exalted position in spirit life. Have you 
that divine LUMINOSITY in your soul to-day? If not, 
cultivate it as you would a choice flower, or otherwise go 
to spirit life in a darkened condition. Choose NOW the 
course you will pursue, one leading to light and love in- 
effable; its reverse carrying you on a tidal wave to the 
regions of darkness. Each one should get in tune with 
vibrations from the spheres of exalted souls, thus securing 
their active aid. You should learn now how to build your 
home in the spirit realms, and prepare it for your recep- 
tion as a spirit. 



THE LITTLE f LOWER GIRL HAS A VISION. 



i. 

Alas! how many human hearts in which the sunshine of 
joy, gladness and happiness never penetrates shedding an 
exhilarating influence that imparts a foretaste of heaven. 
The world to-day is in a transition state — just emerging 
from the dark and pestilential clouds of false religions. 
Here and there, like an oasis in the desert, you can dis- 
cern one who is truly enlightened, and whose soul is ex- 
panded with generosity and goodness, from all of whose 
acts of life there is radiated an angelic influence that 
speaks of God and heaven. The abject barbarian can be 
found in all large cities; his brutish, savage nature is 
only held in abeyance by the strong and vigorous hand of 
the law. Left free to act, his low instinct would bloom 
with every element of the savage, and no crime would be 
too hideous for him to commit. Of course with such a 
state of affairs as now exists in every department of life, 
there must be a certain amount of misery in the world, 
and even that misery causes in some respects the latent 
emotions of humanity to well up in goodness, animating 
the finer feelings and bringing them to the surface like 
a flower on the overhanging branches of the tree; like 

47 



the golden wheat on the fragile straw; and like the little 
shoot from the heart of an acorn. 

II. 

We are not absolutely certain that a divine lesson can 
not be read from every incident or act of life. The little 
girl, who, on one occasion, quietly, timidly, and seemingly 
reluctantly, entered the hotel with a basket of flowers 
on her arm to solicit patronage from wealthy nabobs, was 
a brilliant spark from the workshop of God, although 
being reared in abject poverty. She seemed tired and 
careworn, and as she passed quietly along she noticed a 
vacant chair, got into it, leaned back wearily, and ex- 
hausted nature closed her eyes gently in sleep. Gazing 
upon her in that cold, bleak, dismal fall evening, one 
never saw a grander or more beautiful picture. The 
sweetness of her soul rendered her face divinely radiant, 
and the pencil brush of the artist could not picture more 
of the angel than was manifested in that solitary chair. 
Quietly raising her head, one present, actuated with kindly 
feelings, adjusted an overcoat that he had, under her 
drooping head, that she would experience no uneasiness 
while quietly sleeping. Then putting the basket in her 
lap, he placed a dollar bill there, and of each one who 
passed that way he solicited contributions, until he had 
collected $10. While doing so he carefully watched the 
expression of her countenance, and at times it seemed 
illuminated with a light divine, as if the smile of an angel 
was benignly resting thereon, or as if baptized with a 
cheerful thought direct from God, or as if animated with 
the sight of a cheerful scene in dreamland. 

While she was lying there he saw her raise her arms, 
and sweetly lisp, "Mamma!" and saw the motions of her 
lips as if kissing a phantom form, and then she was the 
picture of exquisite loveliness. Finally he awoke her, 
pointed to her treasure, and finding out where she lived, 
he ordered a carriage, jumped into it with her, and soon 
arrived at her dilapidated home. Her mother and father 
were dead; she was living with a poor, decrepit, heart- 
broken grandmother, who had seen better days, and who, 
as he noiselessly approached the door, was kneeling in 
prayer. It was couched in simple language, but full of 

48 



sympathy and love for her dear child whom she was com- 
pelled to send forth to peddle flowers, to aid in earning 
for each a crust of bread. When she ceased her plaintive 
supplication to God, a prayer as divinely inspired as any 
ever uttered, the strange visitor knocked at the door, and 
led in the little girl, who, with one jump, was in her 
grandmother's arms, and throwing her tiny arms around 
her neck and almost smothering her with her kisses and 
caresses, she said. "I saw mamma at the hotel; my dear, 
dear mamma; she kissed me, talked to me, and placed in 
my basket this money — all this money — every cent of it; 
my own dear mamma placed it in this basket and told 
me to bring it to you with this gentleman." 

He then told the grandmother all the circumstances 
of the case; how the weary child fell asleep, and that he 
just to amuse himself at first, and then in deep sympathy, 
had collected for her this money; and that while engaged 
in this errand of mercy she seemed to be dreaming — at 
times reaching out her arms and lisping, "Mamma," 
and apparently kissing her. Concluding the narration. 
the old lady knelt in prayer, the little girl kneeling by 
her side, and then she calmly invoked God and the angels 
to bless those who had taken such an interest in her 
grandchild, and for a time their angelic visitor felt as if 
in God's own temple; as if angels were listening; as if 
the good and pure in spirit life were breathing the divine 
atmosphere of this lowly home, and flooding it with their 
benign influence. Rising from her knees she took his 
hand, and with tear-stained eyes bore it to her lips, and 
then bidding her good-by he left this home of sorrow, 
where there was one continued struggle to live. 

III. 

On this terrestrial sphere there is suffering, commo- 
tion and strife where least expected, and one-half of the 
world knows not how the other half lives: but by and by 
the curtain will be raised, dark places will be illuminated, 
the life of each one will become an open book, and then 
each noble-hearted person will consider it a sacred duty 
to know exactly how others live, that he may be able 
to alleviate their sorrows and afflictions. Until that time, 
struggles, strife and bitter contentions will exist, and 

49 



peace, quietness and good will only be manifested in 
isolated places like an oasis in an arid plain. He who 
doesn't care how others live; who doesn't feel interested in 
their welfare, and who doesn't try to enlighten those in 
darkness, is not, nor can be an honored guest of those in 
the higher spheres. You can only approach the pure and 
good in spirit life by assisting some one less fortunate 
than yourself, and by degrees trying to bring each one on 
to a higher plane of life. Without living such a life, you 
can never enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but must reside 
on the very lowest plane of spirit life; there is no other 
alternative. He who lives for self alone will gravitate to 
a plane in spirit life as devoid of beauty as his own soul. 
Study now how to build your home in the spirit realms, 
and prepare it for your reception as a spirit. 



BENEFIT OF A RIGHT MENTAL CONCEPT. 



Statisticians accurately measure the wealth of the mines 
and of the farms, and even of the seas and the air — 
billions upon billions! But there are no figures vast 
enough to express the value to mankind of so small and 
simple a thing as a SMILE. 

It is a material world. We value as riches only the 
material things we can grasp and hold in our hands. And 
yet, the real treasures of life, that give to all these out- 
ward things their meaning, are of the haart. 

Material riches? Why, but for so "intangible" a thing 
as sunlight, the whole material universe were black noth- 
ingness; but for "intangible" heat, not the smallest atom 
of earth could exist; but for "intangible" colors and fra- 
grances, the fairest, sweetest flower were but a weed; 
but for the "intangible" light and warmth and fragrance 

50 



of a SMILE the most perfectly formed human face were 
only a lifeless cast. 

It would be very interesting and highly instructive if 
one could compute the value of the part which the SMILE 
has played in the part of humanity. But, like the ray 
of sunshine that comes from the boundless heart of uni- 
versal love, it is free — it costs nothing — and so can not 
be relatively valued. And, like the sunshine again, it 
gilds with glory all it falls upon, and so is limitless in 
value. 

Impossible as is this computation, there are few of us 
who have not learned the lesson that it is a smile, not a 
frown, that makes things move in this world. If you 
don't know this, you have not begun real living. In view 
of this, and of the further fact that it is just as easy to 
SMILE and be cheerful as it is to be surly and disagreea- 
ble, it is surprising how stingy we are with our SMILES 
and kindly words. It is the meanest form of stinginess 
in the world, for the miser himself only loses by it. 

In every department of the commercial and social world 
— everywhere — it is geniality that pays the biggest re- 
turn for the least expenditure. Given anything like the 
same price and similar conditions, there is no business 
man who would not prefer to turn his business to a 
genial man. It is only by making concessions that the 
surly boor holds his own in the business world. 

The SMILE is no less a necessity in the maintenance 
of the social and domestic harmonies. There is no place 
in society for the disagreeable man. Because of his con- 
nections he may be tolerated with some respect, but 
none seek him, and he knows not the comradeship that 
sweetens life. 

So, too, in the home life it is the SMILE that makes 
things run evenly. The wife who greets her husband 
with a SMILE when he returns in the evening and who 
has a SMILE for him when he starts out in the morning 
is filling the home, however humble, with greater riches 
than gold can buy. And the little ones that are raised 
on smile and good cheer have a good heritage. 

What the sunshine is to all material nature, quicken- 
ing all life, giving to all beauty, color and fragrance, 
tinting even dead matter with glow of gold, and giving 

51 



true gold itself a higher glisten, so the SMILE is to 
human life, making sorrows and disappointments easier 
to bear and giving joys themselves a richer sweetness. 

The above thoughts by Madeline Dean in regard to the 
intrinsic value of a smile, express a grand truth. There 
is something impressively beautiful in the one thought of 
the Ideal — its definition: "A mental conception, regarded 
as a standard of perfection." A genuine smile — a smile 
that has not a background of venom, sarcasm, hatred, 
selfishness, or uncharitableness, is the perfection of ideal- 
ism. That a man can smile and yet "be a villain" is 
true. "A mental conception, regarded as a standard of 
perfection" is the IDEAL of a person, blossoming in the 
soul, as it were, and sending out high and holy aspira- 
tions, for a life in harmony therewith. If you have not 
in your own soul a "standard of perfection," then you 
are not making any progress spiritually; then your smile 
is never sweet, wholesome and attractive. When, how- 
ever, one has a standard of perfection, which he has 
formulated, but which he in no wise lives up to, then 
he is a HYPOCRITE, and you can find such in every so- 
ciety. 

"A mental conception regarded as a standard of per- 
fection," may be a Christ, a Buddha, a Confucius, a Mo- 
hammed, or it may -be an imaginary being, yet benignly 
beautiful and soul-satisfying, leading one to a higher 
plane of existence. Under such an influence many mar- 
tyrs have been burned while their features were illumin- 
ated with a serene smile and joyous expression. The 
standard of perfection, if it has this foundation, BEING 
GOOD AND DOING GOOD, and that kind of a life is 
thoroughly carried out, any belief, however absurd it 
may be, will not wreck the soul. 

BELIEF is not actual knowledge. The blind man 
believes much, but realizes very little. 

A mental conception regarded as a standard of perfec- 
tion, may be approximately what it claims to be — per- 
fect — while the belief in regard to the Providence of God 
may be wildly absurd in all respects, yet such a person 
will grow spiritually, whatever club, cult or sect he may 
belong to. 

52 



J Each one should be judged by his mental concept of a 
standard of perfection, and not measured by any sort Of 
religious belief. 

It is absolutely true that no person can grow spiritually 
or expand in angelic graces unless he or she have the 
"right mental conception regarded as a standard of per- 
fection," The right mental conception leads to a higher 
plane, while the wrong mental concept leads down to the 
lowest hell. 

In the ranks of Spiritualism, in Methodism, in Presby- 
terianism, in Dowieism, and other religious sects, are 
found those with a high ideal standard of perfection, 
approximately correct and each one, regardless of any 
special beliefs, is advancing spiritually, is gradually step- 
ping onto a higher plane. 

There was Mary Ferguson, as the paper says, who. 
when at the age of 18, left her wealthy home in the 
South and drifted to Memphis to become a nurse. Badly 
disappointed in love, rejected at the last moment by one 
to whom she was engaged to be married, she changed 
most radically her ideal in life, her "mental concept, re- 
garded as a standard of perfection," and went to a school 
for nurses, and graduated therefrom with high honors, 
changing her ardent love for one individual, so that it 
embraced all humanity, especially those suffering from 
disease, poverty or misfortune. "Her mental concept, re- 
garded as a standard of perfection," had been radically 
revolutionized, and she went wherever duty called, an 
Angel of Light and Love, her smile beautifully sweet, 
and tender, and her voice and touch vibrating with emo- 
tions that had healing properties. She seemed to carry 
with her the aroma of health, as she moved around in 
the sphere of usefulness to which she had consecrated 
her life. Her ideal in life was to be useful, TO DO GOOD, 
TO BE GOOD, and that ideal carried out in her daily 
walks had so spiritualized her whole nature, that she was 
a veritable Angel of Light. 

One day at the headquarters where Mary was stopping 
there came an urgent call for a nurse, and she was as- 
signed to the place — ;i stately mansion in the city, a 
home apparently of culture and refinement Nearly 
twenty years she had passed as a professional nurse among 

53 



the wealthy as well as the poor, as she frequently worked 
without any compensation for her services. On this oc- 
casion, as she passed along the street she had tearful 
forebodings, — she could not restrain her tears for a time 
as she approached the palatial residence, but soon re- 
gained her self-possession. Admitted to the home, she 
was immediately summoned by the physician to the 
room of the patient suffering from typhoid fever. Mary 
was extremely beautiful, her person adorned with some 
jewels forced upon her during early life by her lover, 
and which she retained and wore as a memento of the 
time when her false "mental concept, regarded as a 
standard of perfection," brought her so much sorrow. 
True, they seemed badly out of place in the sick room 
on a professional nurse, but they added to her beauty 
and grace of manners, and she said their brilliancy 
seemed to add to the sweetness of her smile in some of 
the dark places of life, and she, as some thought, stub- 
bornly insisted on wearing them. 

As she entered the room of the patient, a veritable 
Angel of Light, she detected something familiar about 
him, but did not seem in the least disturbed. She admin- 
istered tenderly tp his many wants, soothed him in his 
delirium, and there seemed to flow from her a healing in- 
fluence that had a wonderful beneficent effect. The two 
worlds blended in an effort to restore the patient to 
health. In the darkened room at night the faithful nurse 
saw a spirit light rest upon him, and therein were out- 
lines of a hand sending forth a vitalizing influence, that 
gradually restored the diseased organs to a more healthy 
condition. Realizing who the sick man was, all the ener- 
gies of her soul were bent towards his recovery. When his 
mind wandered, he often spoke of Mary, his pet, his first 
love, and seemed to be with her, living with her in an 
ideal world. These illusions gradually wore off, perfect 
lucidity returned, and his health was gradually restored. 
Her last day in attendance, when all but the affectionate 
nurse were absent from the room, he sat up in the bed, 
and in tearful emotions, said he had recognized her, 
asked her forgiveness, and was freely and uncondition- 
ally forgiven, with advice that he cling to his wife and 

54 



children, and forget the tragic events connected with their 
youthful lives, and that he should work out for himself 
"a mental conception, regarded as a standard of perfec- 
tion," that would embrace all humanity in its ample folds 
— BEING GOOD AND DOING GOOD. Thus ends a most 
remarkable case. 

Man and woman grow to be like the "MENTAL CON- 
CEPT" formed in the mind. You can not progress 
spiritually, you can not grow in angelic qualities, you 
can not possess in their purity the cardinal virtues, you 
cannot be admitted to the higher spheres with a wrong 
distorted MENTAL CONCEPT in the mind in regard to 
your duty in life. Commence now to construct a mental 
image of that which you would like to be, and if correct, 
you will get in tune with vibrations from the spheres of 
exalted souls, and secure their active aid. 



THE CELESTIAL CITY, NOME OP ANGELS 



This world seems to be the preparatory stage of exist- 
ence; a stepping stone, as it were, to a higher, grander, 
and more complete sphere of life. Here the vision is 
very limited; the comprehension of things restricted 
within a certain well defined boundary, and mankind 
generally seem to move as if encompassed in complete 
darkness with reference to coming time. The future 
— an hour, day, week, year or century hence — is con- 
cealed from the view, and each one bases his prospects 
of the coming time entirely on the experiences of the 
past, and the ever living present. The weakness, 
shortsightedness, and finite nature of each individual 
show conclusively that not one of God's children can 
live wholly independent of the rest. Each one is a com- 
ponent part of God's magnificent family; you — who- 

55 



ever you are — are an important factor thereof. He who 
gazes at the moving, throbbing worlds of space, whose 
sun-lit eye, radiant expression of features and profound 
wisdom seemingly ally him to the exalted and pure of 
spirit-life, is no more precious in the sight of God, of 
angels, of the grand old sages in the higher realms of 
existence than the honest old beggar who solicits alms on 
the corner of some active thoroughfare of trade. He is 
more exalted now, with grander thoughts and more God- 
like purposes, and wielding a magnificent influence for 
good, he recognizes the sublime fact eventually each one 
of earth's children can be — and perhaps will be — his 
peer. Being truly great, he is truly good. Being pro- 
foundly wise, his mind penetrates the soul of things and 
reads therefrom a divine lesson. 



II. 

This man — Judge H. — we knew him well. He had 
reared a family of seven children, and now crowned with 
the golden fruitage of seventy-five years, his mind 
yearned for other souls to rear — to educate — to make 
comfortable, happy and useful. The incense of heaven 
seemed to pervade his very thoughts; his voice was sil- 
very sweet, and his declining years as fruitful of good 
deeds as the autumn is of luscious fruits and golden 
leaves. Through his unselfishness he was prompted to 
make further investments in the Celestial City; he 
wanted to draw nearer to the angels — so near that he 
could see their smiling faces; hear their sweet whispers 
of love, and hold communion with them. He knew 
— you know — every one should know — that the only 
ascent to God's Celestial City is through the instrumental- 
ity of unselfish deeds, of pure, holy, exalted aspirations, 
and he fully realized that to remain idle, even in the gold- 
en autumn of an eventful career, was to retrograde. 

What did he do? 

Wishing to be good and do good, that aged veteran 
chose a method of work peculiarly his own; he went to 
the foundling's home, selected two little bright-eyed waifs 
— two sparks of Infinite Intelligence — two souls as much 
the emanation of God, as a Beecher.'s or a Talmage's, and 
he tenderly and lovingly took them to his country home. 

56 



It was spring time then; trees in blossoms, on each one 
of which was the wealth of a rainbow and nature's choic- 
est incense. The grass was green, and bubbling springs 
murmured a fairy-like melody, and the singing birds 
burst forth with a freshness that indicated their knowl- 
edge that sombre winter had gone. 

Judge H. with his precious charge approaches his 
rural home. The sun, just setting, sheds a mellow, ten- 
der radiance over trees, grass and lawn, and the azure 
sky smiles, apparently, a loving benediction upon him. 

He had assumed the guardianship of two "illegitimate 
children!" In the sight of Judge H. — in the sight of 
God — in the sight of the angels — in the sight of the wise 
sages of spirit life, — there are no illegitimate children; 
they may be born outside of wedlock; they may be un- 
welcome human waifs; they may be deserted by their 
parents, yet they belong to the great human family. 



III. 

That night those two little adopted children were put 
tenderly to bed; they went to sleep under the heavenly 
influence of smiles and generous impulses, and awoke 
in the morning, refreshed, and ready and eager to enjoy 
the comforts of their new-found home. 

Those two fragments of God's family had found a 
splendid school. They needed kindness — kind words are 
divine. They needed smiles — demons rarely smile. They 
needed kisses — kisses are the birthright of children. They 
were made joyous and happy under the genial influence 
of that Trinity — Kindness, Smiles and Love. 

Here was one investment in the Celestial City, the final 
home of the whole human family. Gold and silver, pre- 
cious stones and brilliant diamonds, do not pass current 
there. Bonds or gold cannot purchase the favor of angels. 
The poor, honest, toiling mechanic or common day labor- 
er is nearer God — is nearer the angels — nearer the Celes- 
tial City, probably, than an Astor, a Gould or a Vander- 
bilt. You can't buy with earthly riches a lot in God's 
Home. There is no selfishness there, no aristocracy: n i 
railroad magnates; nothing that -is unclean. That home 
is gained by gradual growth and development, through the 
instrumentality of unselfish acts, noble aspirations and 

57 



philanthropic purposes. Have you made an investment 
in that City? Have you a foothold there? Have you an 
aspiration to become one of the noble sages and philan- 
thropists who live there? Think! Stop and ponder well! 
What good, unselfish deed has crowned your life? 

What kind act did you ever do that turned magic-like, 
into currency acceptable in the Celestial City? 

What sorrowing heart have you comforted? 

What cheerful word have you spoken that illuminated 
some despairing soul and dissipated the clouds of despair? 

Have your aspirations been high and holy? 

Pause! Let these questions, like Angels of Light, pene- 
trate your soul, and observe the answer. If you can give 
no favorable response to these questions, then you have 
made no investment in the Celestial City, and you must 
in the future live in a locality just as barren of beauty, 
grandeur and loveliness as your own life is of good results 
or noble aspirations, or until you shall have accomplished 
in the spirit realms what you signally failed to do on 
earth. 

Every act, word and deed must come forth kindly and 
lovingly. Selfish expounders of the Gospel, with large 
salaries for their teachings, exhortations, and explanations 
of Scripture, have no claim to, nor can they approach, 
the Celestial City until their feelings and purposes change. 
They preach; they pray; they exhort; they make profes- 
sional calls, because they are paid for so doing. They 
must do good simply because they love to do it, whether 
paid therefor or not. 

It is not necessary to belong to any church; to read 
any Bibles; to sing psalms or engage in loud prayers in 
order to prepare yourself for a cordial greeting in the 
home of the angels when you shall have passed the por- 
tal called death. DO GOOD AND BE GOOD. That is the 
only coin that God and angels use. 

Even theatrical performers sometimes receive the smiles 
of angels. There was Sara Jewett. Her father was 
taken ill and was affectionately cared for by his daughter 
until his death. Among her father's papers Miss Jewett 
found a letter from his former creditor, saying that he was 
very badly in want of the $50 that was due him. Al- 
though Miss Jewett was in no way responsible for the 

58 



debt, as her father left no property, she at once informed 
the creditor that she would pay the claim. The next day 
she took a carriage, and at much personal inconvenience 
and the loss of valuable time, she found her father's cred- 
itor and paid the debt. Curiously enough, on the same 
day the creditor received from the son of a distinguished 
clergyman, whom he had befriended with a loan, a curt 
refusal to acknowledge the debt, which he had ample 
means to defray from a legacy left him by his father. 
The domestic life of actresses would make an interesting 
book. Most of them are much like other women off the 
stage. The one who reports this incident says: "I have 
often wished that some of the clergymen who used to 
preach against the "Black Crook" could see Emily Rigl, 
one of the leading danseuses, in her cosy home. She has 
been a mother to her brother, whom she has educated and 
cared for all his life." 

Ever remember that the Celestial City is your final ob- 
jective point; that to gain it should be the aspiration of 
each one; that those whose lives are not characterized 
by noble deeds, will in accordance with nature's grand 
laws gravitate to a locality in spirit life that corresponds 
exactly with their own barren condition of soul. Com- 
mence, then, at once, to lead such a life, that will event- 
ually secure you a home in the Celestial City. Make 
an investment therein to-day by doing a generous act, 
and thereby making some sad soul more joyous and happy. 

59 



THE FADED WIFE PASSES TO SPIRIT LIFE. 



i. 

"I am fading," says the dying wife to her husband. 
"I could have wished to live if only to be at your side 
when your time shall come and, pillowing your head upon 
my breast, wipe the death-damps from your brow, and 
usher your departing spirit into its Maker's presence, em- 
balmed in woman's holiest prayer. But it is not to be, 
and I submit. Yours is the privilege of watching, through 
long and dreary nights, the spirit's final flight. And you 
shall share my last thought, and the last faint pressure 
of the hand, and the last feeble kiss shall be yours, and 
even when flesh and heart shall have failed me, my eyes 
shall rest on yours until glazed by death, and our spirits 
shall hold one Jast communion, until, gently fading from 
my view — the last of earth — you shall mingle with the 
first bright glimpses of the unfading glories of the bet- 
ter world, where partings are unknown. Well do I know 
the spot, my dear George, where you will lay me; often 
we stood by the plaee, and, as we watched the mellow 
sunset, as it glanced in quivering flashes through the 
leaves, and furnished the grassy mounds around us with 
stripes of burnished gold, each perhaps has thought that 
some day one of us would come alone, and whichever it 
might be, your name would be on the stone. But we loved 
the spot, and I know you will love it none the less when 
you see the same quiet sunlight linger and play among 
the grass that grows over your Mary's grave. I know 
you will go there, and my spirit will be with you then, 
and whisper among the waving branches, 'I am not lost, 
but gone before.' 

She faded away from the arms of her husband — van- 
ished like a tender flower in the embrace of the cutting 
frost. All are struggling against fading, growing coarse 
and haggard in appearance. As each year has its rip- 
pling spring-time, its fragrant flower-laden summer, its 

60 



fruitful autumn, and interesting winter, so if life were 
rounded out in full perfection, each one would ha 
happy, joyous spring-time, a golden fruitful autumn, be 
healthy and happy in the autumnal years of life, and 
peaceful and serene during the winter scenes thai follow. 
Bui such is not- always the case. 



II. 
We have seen during our career in life many faded ob- 
jects, but the most forlorn, heart-broken, desolate creat- 
ure, was a faded wife! We knew her well. In her youth 
she was the most brilliant, fascinating girl we ever met. 
As artless as a child, her features tinged with a delicate 
roseate hue, which, when illuminated with a smile, resem- 
bled the scintillations of rays of light in a sunset cloud! 
Her eyes seemed to laugh, and her countenance was all 
aglow with the spring-time sunshine of her soul! She 
was the fairest of the fair. She was grand in appearance 
without realizing it. Her young life, beaming with con- 
scious innocence, sparkling like the spray of a fountain, 
and tender, compassionate, loving, she was esteemed by 
all. She finally married a wealthy man, — to the outward 
seemingly a happy union. Finally we lost sight of her for 
twenty years of our life, and then we raised the curtain 
on a different scene: She had become the mother of seven 
children. The oldest, a young lady of eighteen, was the 
very picture of her youthful mother, only more delicate 
— not the freshness that characterized her, yet so much 
like her that for a moment we thought we were talking 
with her again. We inquired for the mother. She was 
in an adjoining room reclining in an invalid's chair! She 
was surrounded by wealth, by luxury, by every external 
appliance that could render life happy. All of her chil- 
dren were there, and never did I see a more beautiful 
cluster! They excited our highest admiration and praise. 
Rut the mother had faded! She was no longer attractive 
or handsome! Her hair was snowy white, her voice 
sounded sepulchral; her step was weak and languid, and 
consumption had fastened its fangs upon her. Her hus- 
band had been led astray by an artful siren. When his 
wife began to fade, to .mow prematurely old, his love, too, 

61 



vanished, and he sought companionship a large portion 
of the time away from home. His coldness chilled his 
wife, as the autumnal wind does the tender plant, and 
she went into a decline. Alas! poor, weak human nature! 
As we gazed on that poor woman, I felt the shadows of 
death approaching, and told her that she could not live 
long. 

"But I must live," said she. "Those children demand 
a mother's love and affection. I will live! I must live 
for them!" 

Poor woman, poor faded creature, how she struggled 
against fate! It was a sad, sad scene. Forsaken by her 
husband, so far as love could go, she still yearned to live 
that she might exercise guardian care over her offspring. 
A faded wife! Indeed faded, — vanished within her chil- 
dren! The eldest had her youthful, sparkling vivacity; 
in every link, in every unfolding bud of that family cir- 
cle, was a part of herself! True, she had faded, but wit- 
ness the beautiful scene! The grandeur of her soul 
beamed in her children. She had been true to God and 
nature! 

"Poor, faded wife!" petulently murmured her husband. 

Yes, she had faded; but as the sun fades from our 
sight, it continues to- shine on other scenes, to animate 
other sections, and to bestow on vegetation its life-giving 
properties; so will that faded mother continue to live in 
and around her children. But gradually she failed — the 
emaciated form grew weaker, the voice more husky, the 
cough more violent, and her hope less strong, until finally 
prostrated helplessly on her bed, she realized she had 
not long to live. 

The children had been told that death was approaching. 
Their mother was gradually dying. The young lady whom 
we so much admired in former years, was just passing 
down — to her — the bleak, desolate pathway of death. But 
the children tenderly loved that faded mother. The wealth 
of their youthful hearts was hers — only hers — and we 
saw them all kneel by the side of her dying bed! 

It was a grand sight, — seven children in prayer! Seven 
hearts beating in unison! Seven souls woven in one 
chain of a mother's love! 

They cried as if their hearts would break; their sobs 
62 



were heart-rending to hear; such a scene would seemingly 
melt a heart of steel, and bring tears to the eyes of a 
calloused wretch. That husband, who had deserted his 
faded wife, as he gazed upon the plaintive scene, the 
seven children on bended knees by the side of the bed, 
bent over the faded form, the arms were extended, and 
the dying mother whispered: "Promise me to guard, pro- 
tect and care for our children." 

"I surely will," he responded. "And will you, my dar- 
ling wife, forgive me?" asked the repentant husband. 

"Yes! Most assuredly I do!" 

And those were the last words the dying wife uttered. 

The next day the children, realizing that their mother 
had passed to spirit life, they gathered flowers from the 
garden, wove them into the words, "Your Children's Trib- 
ute of Love," and they were placed on the coffin a fitting 
expression of the bubbling emotions of their souls, and 
were carried to the grave with the remains. 



III. 

The ascended spirit is no longer a faded wife. Her 
advent into spirit life was transcendentally grand and 
beautiful. Her heroic life-deeds had been woven into her 
spirit-home, and its environments, and she found that for 
every sacrifice she had ever made she was correspond- 
ingly rewarded! The radiance of youth had returned to 
her. In spirit life no one would regard her as faded! 

You need not regret fading, or in the loss of beauty and 
strength, if the same is caused by benevolent, praiseworthy 
acts, or in heroic self-sacrifice for others. It pays to fade 
in the discharge of a sacred duty, in doing good and in 
alleviating the suffering of others. 

When the mother fades away into her children — in de- 
votion to them — losing health and vigor in maintaining 
and nourishing them, verily great shall be her reward: 

Little waves of light come 95,000,000 of miles from 
the sun to vanish in a flower and impart a heaven-born 
fragrance for mortals to breathe. It pays to gradually 
fade away Into humane acts and philanthropic deeds. 
Such a transmigration should be devoutly sought. Roger 
Williams' remains, it is said, nourished tlio roots of an 

f,3 



apple tree, fading away into beautiful blossoms and golden 
fruit! Let each one, then, so shape his life as to grad- 
ually fade away into something better, holier, purer, that 
he may see in the future his aspiration and deeds woven 
into a spiritual home, a fit residence for the unselfish 
soul, and an honor to the Home Circle Fraternity. 



TWO IMPRESSIVE INCIDENTS IN LIFE. 



Each one forced into this world of care and anxiety, 
and then forced through it, and then forced out of it, 
finally landing into the realm of souls — all a Forcing 
Process. All along this wonderfully impressive and 
thrilling line of life this Forcing Process continues with 
automatic regularity and precision, bringing ecstatic joy 
to some, and extreme sorrow to others. The Forcing 
Process never ceases its work. It is the twin brother 
of Time — on and "on it goes, leaving in its train much 
joy and also innumerable pangs of distress. It traverses 
rivers of blood; it kills with fire, with flood, with bu- 
bonic plagues, with pestilence and famine, and with the 
terrific lightning's flash. This Forcing Process is re- 
garded by some as an Angel of Darkness, for it works 
in the dark — no one knows of its secret wishes or de- 
signs. Yes, forced into the world, forced through it, and 
then forced into the spirit realms. 

This Forcing Process is in every sense of the word an 
arbitrary dictator, holding the whole world in abject sub- 
mission. Who can control it? Who can even influence 
it? Who ever thought of thwarting its designs? This 
Forcing Process is really a tyrant or a benefactor, thrust- 
ing you in the world, and then out of it, never resting 
in its work, for a single moment. Some it thrusts into 
the world blind; some it makes deaf and dumb; some 
it creates are deformed, some crippled, some badly dis- 

64 



eased, and many idiotic, and others extremely cruel and 
barbarous. 

All through nature this Forcing Process exists. Some- 
times it brings into the world an Edison, a Tesla, a New- 
ton, a Fulton, whose wisdom blesses the world. Occa- 
sionally it brings forth a genius like Mozart, Beethoven, 
Liszt, or even a Blind Tom. It is cruelly erratic some- 
times, yet occasionally bursts forth into a philosophical 
strain, bringing to earth a Newton, Darwin or Spencer. 
It is at times malevolent — even satanic or diabolical. 
It is also the greatest principle of the universe, charita- 
ble, kindly constructive and elevating. It contains the 
darkness of night and the meridian light of the noonday 
sun. It is a contradiction in its make-up, sublime har- 
mony or discord as it plays on humanity. 

Yes, this Forcing Process is a medley, a miracle, a 
blind force, an enigma, an unsolved problem, yet it 
brings intelligence, light and joy out of crude matter. 
We will illustrate: 

A little babe, racked with pain, crying bitterly at 
times, its tear-stained sobs going out in one melancholy, 
despairing wail, was clasped to its mother's bosom, in one 
fond affectionate embrace, as she lisped words of affec- 
tion, sweet incense of love stored up in her soul, with 
which she baptized her darling child — a baptism more 
poetical, more lovingly sweet and impressive, and far 
more beautiful and angelic, than the church baptism by 
water; but the child still cried — nothing seemed to 
quiet it. Then the little mite of a brother took the 
babe and tenderly laid it in its crib, and then commenced 
singing in German, a sweet lullaby song. As he bent 
over the child singing, his features became illuminated, 
as if an angel smile had been transferred to them, just 
as the artist transfers the grandeur of his thoughts and 
aspirations to canvas, and as he sang he stroked the 
child lovingly, and it became quiet, and seemed to be 
sleeping, and then rising from his stooping posture, he 
gave his voice full vent in repeating the lullaby son-. 
which created a vibration so tenderly pathetic that 
the eyes of a score of mothers were riveted upou him, 
and there he stood transfigured, angelic, for ten minutes 

65 



singing German lullaby songs by the crib of the sleep- 
ing babe. 

Alas! sweetly sleeping, as all thought, yet dead! And 
when Fritz and the mother realized the sorrowful fact, 
they burst in an agony of grief. Could their spirit eyes 
have been opened so they could see the child's spirit as 
it emerged from its body, and see it assigned to the care 
of a spirit mother, they would have rejoiced with joy 
unspeakable. 

The various mothers present at the sanitarium on the 
lake shore in Chicago gathered around the crib, and 
mingled their tears and deep regrets with those of Fritz 
and the mother. 

The Forcing Process had transfigured tne child into a 
picture of loveliness, just as Nature transfigures the bud 
into a blossom, just as she transfigures the blossom into 
luscious fruit and delicious perfume, just as she transfig- 
ures the darkness of a gloomy night into the delightful 
glow and transcendent beauty of a summer morn, all 
aglow with the iridescent colors of the rainbow, and 
pleasant beyond description — all the direct result of a 
Forcing Process. 

Another scene is recorded in the daily papers. In the 
dens of vice, a hideous hole where demons congregate, 
and sin emits a poisonous influence that pervades the 
room in dark, grim clouds, wherein degraded spirits re- 
gale themselves as they peer around with a ghastly 
smile on their faces, a Magdalen, with delicate traces of 
beauty still resting on her pallid features, like a sun- 
beam filtered through the dismal clouds of a dark miasmic 
swamp, and a voice charmingly sweet, and a stately bear- 
ing, the legacy of unsullied innocence and refinement, 
is singing an amorous song, a charming voice used as a 
decoy to lead the lustful on in this dark pit of hellish 
despair to spend their money. She sang and sang, seem- 
ing never to tire, and the shouts of "bravo," "fine," "ex- 
hilarating," came from various parts of this dismal 
room in the back part of a saloon, from those present, as 
they quaffed the wine. All at once she ceased her amor- 
ous songs. The tears trickled down her features, emo- 
tions, tender and pathetic, surged through her soul as if 

66 



transplanted there by exalted beings, and with a wave 
of her hand, and her pallid features beaming with a 
radiance that seemed divine, silencing all present, she 
commenced singing as if under the influence of an 
angel. As reported by a college student present, who 
was on a tour of investigation of the dark side of life, 
it appeared as if the radiance and sublime beauty of one 
from the climes of Paradise had come to earth through 
her, the transformation seemed so complete. She sang 
a verse, and silence reigned. The wine glasses were 
lowered as they were being raised to the lips, and placed 
back on the table. The silence in this heart-rending den 
of vice was most profound; the poor wayward girls pres- 
ent seemed to become subdued, and calm, and thought- 
ful; their features relaxed, their clasp on the wine glass 
was released, and a solemn thoughtful mood took the 
place of ribald jests and obscene language, and the very 
air of the foul room seemed moved with a different 
vibration. With hands clasped, with eyes upturned as 
if in a trance, her voice tremulous with emotions, the 
singer gave expression to songs that must have had their 
birthplace in the higher spheres of spirit life, they were 
so tremulous with sympathy and exalted thoughts, as if 
some Angel of Light and Love had taken possession of 
her, had pierced the dark cloud of gloom that pervaded 
this den of vice, and the sudden transition was like the 
ushering in of the morning dawn after a dark and dismal 
night. As she sang the last verse this Magdalen, as 
reported, fell prostrate on the floor, as if paralyzed, and 
in the grasp of death. The debased crowd fled from the 
room, the police were summoned, and the poor unfortu- 
nate Magdalen was found to be — dead! — a sweet smile 
seeming to rest on her features, the result of the trans- 
figuration she had undergone. 

This Magdalen was not really bad by nature; she 
loathed the life she lived, but saw no means of escape. 
Behind her dark life were aspirations, emotions and sub- 
lime thoughts, and on her advent into the realm of souls. 
a new life opened up before her; the darkness of the 
past receded, while before her the pathway became more 
and more luminous, as she dedicated 1km- work to ih»' 

67 



redemption of earth-bound souls. She did not go to 
spirit life like the little babe, in a state of innocence, but 
had much to answer for. 

Thus it is we are forced into the world, forced through 
it, and forced out of it, and as this Forcing Process goes 
on, seemingly an Angel at times, and then a Demon, you 
must bear in mind continually that while you are forced 
through life, you have the power to make yourself what 
you choose, and are responsible therefor. You are now 
acting as the architect of your future home. You are 
free to choose, free to act, and as you do now, that will 
determine the character of your future spirit life, regard- 
less of the Forcing Process that pushes you along from 
the cradle to the grave. If you try, you can get in tune 
with exalted souls, and thus secure their tender care 
and aid. 



NECESSITY POR HIGH IDEALS IN LIPE, 



There are millions who believe in Spirit Return. They 
are thoroughly convinced that they have had messages 
from their loved ones on the spirit side of life; but those 
MILLIONS who have from a scientific standpoint come 
to the conclusion that the door is open between the ma- 
terial and spiritual spheres of existence and that an inter- 
change of messages can take place through the same, have 
never thought of attaching an "ISM" to the important 
fact they have discovered. They have accepted it just as 
they would accept any new discovery in the domain of 
science, and have no desire to be tagged in consequence 
with any kind of ism. However, there are many Spirit- 
ualists, highly cultured, who have formulated a religion 
in connection with their belief, for any one who has 
"HIGH IDEALS" has a religion according to our inter- 
pretation of the Century Dictionary, a standard work. 
And we pity extremely the one who has no "High Ideals"* 

68 



in connection with his life on earth, and the multitudin- 
ous works attached thereto. 

Under the circumstances, it is hardly fair for any one 
to condemn another in consequence of his religion, what- 
ever may be the foundation on which it rests, providing, 
of course, there are HIGH IDEALS connected therewith. 

No two are made alike; no two can think exactly alike. 
Nature in her various ramifications in the material and 
spiritual realms, never repeats itself, hence minor dif- 
ferences of opinion in regard to religion, God, Divine Prov- 
idence, etc., have always existed and will continue to exist 
so long as time endures. Religion may have a thousand 
different superstructures on which to rest, and if HIGH 
IDEALS are connected therewith, the effect can not be 
otherwise than good. 

Some seem to be frightened at the word religion, and 
regard it as an invention of Superstition and Ignorance, 
and IN MANY CASES IT IS, because there are no really 
true HIGH IDEALS connected therewith, thus becom- 
ing an instrument of oppression, as in the Catholic church. 

The law which prevails in this country seems to be a 
party to aid religion, and when a belief is expressed in re- 
gard to the status of affairs in "Heaven" or the "Spirit 
Realms," then the word Religion to it seems applicable, 
and especially important — THAT IS, IN THE EYES OF 
THE LAW. Then why is it wise to ignore a belief in su- 
pernal things as a Religion, HIGH IDEALS being con- 
nected therewith. We certainly have no use for a reli- 
gion founded on superstition and ignorance, yet if a 
church organization has High Ethical Ideals connected 
with it as in some of the liberal sects, then a good work 
can be accomplished. 

Bishop Fallows has a religion, but it is not in harmony 
with Spiritualism, although it has exceptionally High 
Ideals, and from a humanitarian standpoint is doing a 
most excellent work. 

The Century Dictionary speaks as follows of Religion: 

"The healthful development and right life of the spirit- 
ual nature, as contrasted with that of the mere Intellect- 
ual and social powers. 

"Sense of obligation) < ous< ient ionsness; sense of duty." 
G9 



Any Spiritualist, according to the Century Dictionary, 
who has a sense of obligation, conscientiousness, sense of 
duty, has HIGH IDEALS, hence a RELIGION. 

Then why all this acrimony, this perturbed feeling, 
this antagonism, and harsh criticism against those Spirit- 
ualists who, actuated by a reverential feeling, form HIGH 
IDEALS in connection with spirit return, and who have 
a "sense of obligation, conscientiousness, and sense of 
duty." And who believe in "the healthful development 
and right life of the spiritual nature." 

Henry P. Cope, in one of his masterly sermons, gives 
an impressive lesson for all to consider in the follow- 
ing: 

"He who has fully followed his IDEALS may have 
missed all other prizes in that pursuit, yet he has found 
happiness and riches that could have become his in no 
other way. Here is the secret of satisfaction, here is high 
success in any life, that one shall have followed fully his 
ideals, shall have kept the best steadily before him. 

"HEAVENLY VISIONS COME TO ALL. They may not 
come with the rushing of angels' wings, nor with strange 
and mysterious signs and appearances. Perhaps some of 
the old time visions of great missions and of heights of 
character are described in terms of the supernatural only 
because they seem so much above the plane of the normal, 
average experience. 

"None is poorer than he who HAS NEVER KNOWN 
HIGH ASPIRATION, who has never lifted his eyes to see 
the glory set before him. After all, the measure of any 
life is the extent to which such visions of great possibili- 
ties and lofty tasks has entered into the being and domi- 
nated the deeds. 

"There is nothing like this to make a man strong to 
endure, to make him despise the paltry prizes that seem 
so attractive to eyes blind to the greater glory. This is 
the food that angels envy, food that has sustained the 
soul through long days in the deserts, through weariness, 
toil, disappointments, fears, forsakings, losses, and lone- 
liness. They are able to despise the cross and to endure 
the shame who have seen the glory set before every worthy 
life, and leading on every high path of service or of sacri- 

70 



fice. No man or woman ever attained anything without 
this; nothing is impossible to those who cherish this 
light and heed this call. 

"Livingstone, Lincoln, Garibaldi, Florence Nightingale 
would have failed without the vision. In the rewards of 
wage or fame there would be no power to bear them up, 
on the contrary their daily experiences were enough to 
turn them from the chosen path, but for the lofty confi- 
dence that they were doing the one work for them, but 
for the inspiration of the ideal before them. 

"And this is any man's religion, to follow his IDEAL, 
to seek to be the best that day by day he knows, to do the 
highest duty that any lofty desire indicates, to take the 
path that leads up in love, and service, and purity of 
living. The religious life is the life that moves up into 
its higher self, and so ever finds new heights before it. 

"The great question for every man in religion is, not 
so much whether he will obey the ten commandments, not 
so much whether he will bend to the dictate of church 
or preacher, but whether he will be obedient to the inner 
vision, of the voice from heaven that speaks in his own 
heart and bids him forsake his dull ways of self-content 
and rise to higher living, to sacrificial service. 

"That vision calls us to paths of pain, that vision, if 
you but heed and seek tp obey, makes tremendous de- 
mands of you. It is not the easy, heedless following of 
an emotional, romantic love for glory; it is the thorny 
path of the cross, the way of burden bearing; it is so 
hard as to be heroic. 

"The thing that is eating like a canker into our hearts, 
and robbing us of our power, and stealing our possibili- 
ties is our love of ease, our hatred of the things that are 
hard; we refuse to obey the heavenly vision because to 
do so would be to endure hardness, to forsake our soft 
and pleasant ways. So seeking ease we lose life. 

"Our days are filled with a dull discontent, not because 
we do not possess the things of this life, but because we 
have missed its greatest prize, the joy of following grow- 
ing IDEALS. There is nothing we need to cherish more, 
to guard more closely than this, the visions that stir to 

71 



greatness, the passion for perfection, the hope of high liv- 
ing and service." 

Thus it is that every Spiritualist who has HIGH 
IDEALS, formulated according to the definition of the 
Century Dictionary, has a Religion in spite of himself, 
and each individual and the world at large should be 
made better thereby. It is the correct IDEAL formulated 
in the mind that enables one TO GET IN TUNE WITH 
VIBRATIONS FROM THE SPHERES OF EXALTED 
SOULS, THUS SECURING THEIR ACTIVE AID. 



A SWEET AND BEAUTIEUL SOUL 



"The gentleman whose funeral we have just attended 
was a sweet and beautiful soul — but I have forgotten 
his name." So said Emerson, with the frankness of sec- 
ond childhood just after his friend, Longfellow, had been 
laid in the grave — Emerson, the poet's poet, great think- 
er and scholar, already enfeebled by age, his memory 
gone, and himself soon to follow to the land of the im- 
mortals. Very suggestive are the words. The name, 
which every lover of a pure literature hopes will be grate- 
fully cherished while time endures, had already gone 
from his recollection, but the impression of the man's 
character remained — Emerson still remembered his 
"sweet and beautiful soul." 

This eminent man, whose life was pure melody, whose 
soul was a garden of flowers, whose very thoughts were 
far more brilliant than earthly gems, and whose 
whole life was a poem of exquisite loveliness 
and sweetness, had then commenced dying — dying at 
the top, yet his very presence was as pleasing as the van- 
ishing notes of one of Beethoven's symphonies. The world 
had ceased to be a Book to him, and he could no longer 

72 



read therefrom the practical lessons of life. He had at- 
tended a funeral where concentrated sorrow, solemn and 
tear-stained thoughts hover over each, one like the dark 
mantle of a starless night, and the power to recognize 
the cast-off form of the peerless spirit vanished like a 
half-forgotten dream; he realized that "he was a sweet 
and beautiful soul;" and beyond that, his autumnal 
mind, brilliant with golden fruitage, pulsating with di- 
vine thoughts, radiant with God's own electrifying light, 
and rich with the exquisite verdure that can only spring 
forth in the soul of him that has had a foretaste of 
heaven, did not venture. 

As Emerson attended that funeral, he too was dying 
— just as the golden sun dies when it disappears in the 
rainbow-tinted skies of the west, to burst forth again at 
the morning dawn; just as the acorn dies, only to appear 
in a majestic forest tree; just as the little rootlet per- 
ishes, to come forth in a queenly flower; just as the 
caterpillar vanishes, in order to assume the garb of a 
gaudy butterfly, and to dazzle the beholder with its brill- 
iant colors; just as the blossom dies, to hang forth on 
luxuriant branches as a luscious peach — he was slowly 
undergoing the god-like metamorphosis from the mortal 
to the immortal, from the material to the spiritual, and 
gradually becoming unconscious of his surroundings. 
Then, when he attended Longfellow's funeral he was 
partly dead — oblivious to the fact that a near and dear 
friend was lying before him in the coffin, only realizing 
that he was in the presence of a "sweet and beautiful 
soul." 

With Emerson the sweet and beautiful was over pres- 
ent. In his own pristine thoughts the Bweet and beauti- 
ful lingered like the mellow tenderness of an autumn day. 
In his own children the sweet and beautiful rippled like 
melody of the winds when kissing the orange or apple 
blossoms. Tn little children he saw the sweet and beauti- 
ful in the dimpled smiles; heard their divine qualities 
in their merry iaugh, and felt their soul-inspiring nature 
in their gentle words and caresses. He lived in the sweet 
and beautiful, though his frame had become weak, his 

memory treacherous, and his eyes less sparkling. The 



older he grew, the grander and more towering his spirit- 
ual nature became. 

What a pleasant life this would be if all would estab- 
lish a garden in their own souls, and cultivate therein all 
that is sweet and beautiful, discarding every little root- 
let, every seed and every germ that could possibly pro- 
duce acrimonious feelings, unkind thoughts, or wayward 
acts. We must not wait for the enjoyment that emanates 
from spiritual sources in the Summerland; we must 
have a congenial soil in our own nature, from which the 
grandest impulses of heaven itself will spring forth, 
naturally rendering our happiness complete. 

Can you pass the poor cripple in the streets without sad 
emotions? Can you repel the poverty-stricken hand, ap- 
pealing for assistance? Can you turn away the tear- 
stained orphan without granting a word of encourage- 
ment? If so, you have none of the sweet and beautiful 
in your nature that characterized the life of the immortal 
Emerson or Longfellow. The sweet and beautiful is only 
the heritage of the pure in heart, the benevolent, the 
kind, the forbearing, the merciful, the sympathetic. 

He who has the sweet and beautiful in his nature has 
a foretaste of heaven ; he can even catch a glimpse of the 
Celestial City, and he thinks at times that he hears the 
sweet whispers of angel visitants. You who have family 
jars; who have scolding, fault-finding words nesting like 
vipers on your tongue; who treat the humblest of God's 
children haughtily or cavalierly, your nature is like a 
Siberian plain — cold, heartless, desolate! The sweet and 
beautiful of human nature are merely fragments of 
heaven, finding lodgment in congenial soil. If sincerely 
invited, they come, and yield their angelic influence to 
all around. 

When the time arrives on earth that the sweet and 
beautiful shall find congenial soil for fruitage in each 
human soul, then the golden morn of the millennium will 
be ushered in, and poverty, discord, wars and calamities 
of all kinds will have disappeared. To have a sweet and 
beautiful soul, you must not — you cannot — believe in the 
existence of a hell, where you think God punishes for- 
ever some poor, wayward child— one, indeed, of his own 

74 



children. Crippled, indeed, is that nature which be- 
lieves such a hideous doctrine. 

Heaven only comes to earth in the sweet and beautiful 
lives of the noblest of God's children. It never finds 
lodgment in angry expression or an unkind thought; a 
haughty curl of the lip knows nothing of its holy, oenign 
influence. Within Longfellow's soul, all ablaze with poet- 
ical genius and adorned with divine love, was a fragment 
of heaven; not all of heaven, with its melody, its grand- 
eur, its simplicity — only a fragment thereof, which was 
the sweet and beautiful that attracted the attention of 
Emerson. Heaven exists here in fragments. In some it 
scintillates as poetry, and the soul is tremulous with 
divine melody. In others, like Mozart and Beethoven, it 
gives expression to music, the essence of poetry, and 
unites the two worlds in the gentle bonds of harmony. 
In others, like Newton and Kepler, it promulgates a 
grand philosophy, and reveals the secrets of the starry 
realms. In others, like Florence Nightingale and How- 
ard, it manifests itself in deeds of charity, and gives the 
unfortunates a foretaste of the celestial regions. 

The fragments of heaven only find lodgment in genial 
soil. They never can be manifested in an unkind word, 
in a scornful look or by the garrulous tongue of gossip. 
In souls like Emerson's and Longfellow's fragments of 
heaven, sweet and beautiful, find a temple suitable for 
the expression of their divine fragrance. They, finding 
a congenial soil there, vibrate the chords of their souls, 
and poetry and philosophy flow therefrom as naturally 
as water from the rippling spring. If you kindly forgive 
your enemies; if you cheer the unfortunate; if you feed 
the hungry; if you return a kind answer to Insulting 
words and constantly try to cheer some faltering soul, 
then you have a fragment of heaven nestling in your 
soul, keeping it warm and fruitful. 

The little beggar girl, wan, pale-faced and tired, to 
whom a gentleman had given five cents, had her sympa- 
thies excited by a tramp — a hungry tramp, as she thought, 
and worse off than herself — and she gave him the nickel 
to get something to eat. She, poor, weary, Faltering, halt- 
starved waif, had a choice fragment of heaven in her soul 

75 



and it bore abundant fruitage, for she gave to another 
what she needed herself, thinking him, alas! worse off 
than she was. He however, had a fragment of hell in 
his perverse soul, spending that money at once for liquor. 
Every fragment of heaven, besides being sweet and 
beautiful, is prolific in its fruit-bearing properties, en- 
riching the whole nature, and laying the foundation of 
your Celestial Home. If you have no fragments of heaven 
in your nature, your home in spirit-life will be black, 
dreary, dismal and desolate. If. you want heaven in the 
future you MUST CULTIVATE IT IN YOUR SOUL HERE, 
and give it free expression in all the acts of life. In 
spirit-life, when you first make your advent there, you 
will be greeted by just what you have cultivated here. 
If you cultivate perverse, haughty, domineering feelings 
on earth, you will scarcely find a fragment of heaven to 
greet you after death. Bear these thoughts in mind; 
ponder them w©ll; learn a deep and significant lesson 
therefrom, and act accordingly. Cultivate the sweet and 
beautiful in your own home; in your very voice; in the 
words you utter to cheer some lonely heart, and in all 
your acts of life, and great shall be your reward in the 
Celestial Regions to- which you will soon ascend. Try at 
all times to get in tune with vibrations from the sphere of 
exalted souls, thus securing their active aid. 

76 



THE THORINLESS CACTUS -THE LESSON, 



While millions of men in every part of the world are 
continually striving in various ways to better humanity's 
condition, few of them are succeeding better than Luther 
Buirbank, the California horticulturist. 

Burbank's efforts are not towards improving sociology. 
He does not attempt to increase the efficiency of law. 
He leaves to others the task of making relations toward 
one another more kindly. He devotes himself to develop- 
ing the crude fruits and grains of the earth, so that the 
task of obtaining sustenance may become easier, rightly 
thinking that if man can be enabled to devote less atten- 
tion to satisfying the needs of the body he will have 
more time to give to the higher problems that confront 
him. 

Just now Burbank is trying to produce a thornless Cac- 
tus. That seems a trifling thing, but when one stops to 
consider that, if he succeeds, he will have permitted 
millions of acres that are now valueless because of their 
aridity to become rich pasturage for all kinds of live stock, 
it is seen that the project is of the highest importance. 
In the west there are vast areas now uninhabitable, not 
because of a trying climate, but solely because water is 
not found there. The thorny cactus is abundant all over 
the region, of which it is virtually the only product. 
Concealed beneath its deadly thorns is abundant food and 
water, but its thorns make them impossible of attain- 
ment by animals. 

If Burbank can denude the Cactus of its thorns, mak- 
ing the plant all food and drink, the improved product can 
be planted and will thrive all over the desert, which will 
then be stocked with millions of cattle, sheep, goats and 
hogs, for all kinds of stock relish the Cactns and fatteo 

77 



on it quickly. Thus, by this one stroke, the food supply 
of the United States will be greatly added to, and prices 
will inevitably fall. 

Burbank told the national irrigation congress that he 
believed success was certain, and that will be accepted by 
the country as a guaranty that the thornless Cactus will 
shortly be produced. If he had done nothing else this 
achievement should give him a high place among those 
men who have made life easier for humankind. And so 
much the Chicago Daily Journal says of the thornless 
Cactus. 

Luther Burbank, of California, is a veritable Savior, a 
Savior in the highest, grandest and most beautiful con- 
ception of that impressive angelic word, for he is devoting 
his time and energies to bringing unto the world a thorn- 
less Cactus to bless all humanity, thus furnishing a new 
nourishing food for man and beast. 

In order to be a first-class Savior, scintillating with 
divine qualities, it is far better not to go ranting about 
the world, indulging in abusive denunciations and vile dia- 
tribes, and accomplishing next to nothing In the way of 
benefiting unfortunate humanity. 

Jesus exhibited ah irritable, turbulent spirit when he 
cursed the fig tree and indulged in figurative talk which 
no one could understand. A first-class Savior, one imbued 
with an angelic spirit, must first save himself. Not like 
the Cactus, he has no thorns in his nature, but he has 
something perhaps decidedly worse, and more disfiguring 
and harmful. If he is deceitful, if he resorts to lies, if he 
backbites his neighbors, if he is jealous, envious, un- 
charitable, and in language is coarse and vulgar, his na- 
ture has got to be thoroughly reconstructed. 

As the thorns of the Cactus must be removed to render 
it useful to humanity, and will be in the course of time, 
so must one who possesses those pernicious traits of 
character divest himself of the same before he can assume 
the position of a Savior. No one who possesses a bad 
habit in full force can attain the right angelic vibration 
whereby he can save others from its pernicious influ- 
ence. 

The one with deception in his nature, vibrates on a 
78 



low plane. A lie emanating from a person poisons the 
spiritual atmosphere around him. A vile habit is as in- 
jurious to the person as the thorns of the Cactus are to 
cattle, and before either can be useful to the world, 
those defects must be removed. 

You may talk of weeds in the garden and in the fields 
— there are far worse weeds in human nature sometimes, 
and only by systematic exertion can they be removed. 
You cannot enter on a high plane of Spiritual life with 
unholy aspirations in your nature. The doors of the 
high and grand Spiritual spheres never open to envy, 
jealousy, or deception. Your habits in life cause you to 
grow spiritually, or to descend lower into the poisonous 
slime of depravity. There can be no standing still in any 
part of God's illimitable universe. As the Cactus must 
leave off its thorns before it can fill the role of a suc- 
culent vegetable for man and beast, so you must banish 
selfishness, lust, envy, jealousy, hatred, uncharitableness 
and unkindness, in word, deed or thought, in order to 
become a typical reformer or Savior. 

In order to reach a higher Spiritual sphere than the 
one you now occupy, you must become measurably like the 
denizens of that sphere. You cannot carry a depraved 
appetite to that plane. You can not rise so long as base 
passions or appetites anchor you where you are. You can 
only raise that anchor in the degree that you abandon 
them. 

The one who ravishes a young and innocent girl, 
using his own diabolical force to accomplish the object 
of his lustful desire, is anchored to the very lowest and 
darkest spheres of spirit life. The social libertine, one 
of the nabobs of earth, perhaps, who with wine and money 
and the blandishments of subtle devilishness, does not use 
physical force to accomplish his vile ends, yet he is as 
bad as the lustful colored fiend, who, blinded by ignorance, 
has lost all self-control in his satanic work. 

It is not one's belief in things pertaining to the so-called 
Providences, Methods or Laws of God, and his terrible 
Hell or delightful Heaven, but it is the general tendency 
of one's life towards the good or the bad, regardless 
of all belief that elevates or degrades. 

79 



When Jane Helm, an exceptionally pious Salvation 
Army girl of New York City, believing in the existence 
of an endless hell of fire and brimstone, walked into the 
dark part of a den of vice, selling a religious paper, she 
saw sitting at one of the tables drinking wine with a male 
attendant, a young lady, neatly dressed, and with but lit- 
tle evidence in the expression of her face of the practice 
of licentiousness, and she bent over her and kindly whis- 
pered: "Your darling mother has been sent from Heaven 
by God himself, and now stands by you, her features 
wreathed in solemn sadness, angelic tears glistening in her 
eyes, while her voice is tremulously sweet and sympathetic 
as she talks to me deploring your conduct in life, and she 
desires me to save you." 

Jane, the Salvation Army girl, was at times clairaudient, 
and like many other devoutly religious people, she be- 
lieved that God had sent a special Messenger to her from 
time to time to aid her in her work. She pleaded with 
this young Mary Magdalen, giving her a brief but impress- 
ive message from the mother, telling her name in full and 
other strange particulars. 

Mary then arose from the table, around which the 
Satanic devotees of sin and licentiousness had clustered 
like vermin in the dark hours of the night, and taking 
the arm of Jane they quietly left this place of hellish 
depravity, this place of sin, this dark underground decep- 
tion room, where young and innocent girls were debauched 
and finally ruined. 

Jane told her that God had, a week ago, informed her 
she would meet her in a den of vice, that He, the Holy 
One, reigning in heaven with Jesus and the archangels, 
said He would send the mother to intercede in behalf of 
her daughter, and he did. What a scene of sad transcend- 
ent beauty and loveliness in connection with the ribald, 
amorous love songs, the clash of wine glasses, obscene 
jokes, libidinous conversation and depraved thoughts, 
rendering the place spiritually dark and loathsome, and 
where the vermin of the lowest sphere seemed to con- 
gregate, and this when Jane was interceding, as she 
thought, under the direct intervention of God, to save 
one human soul. 

Jane and this Mary Magdalen left this underground 
80 



sphere of satanic debauchery, arm in arm, and the former 
talked of God and his goodness, of Jesus and his love for 
sinners, of the archangels around the throne, of the bound- 
less glory of heaven, and the shrieks of the sinner in a 
burning hell, while Mary listened attentively. She told 
her of her mother, as if she had known her all her life, 
and the poor misguided girl sobbed as if her heart would 
break, promising to go and sin no more. 

Under the watchful and angelic surveillance of Jane 
Helm, the Salvation Army devotee, Mary Magdalen (as 
she was called at the time — that is not her real name) 
was redeemed and finally happily married. 

A religion that inspires goodness, honesty, purity of 
character, and a desire to elevate all others to a higher 
plane, must necessarily be instrumental in doing good, 
if the creed behind it fully respects the rights of others. 
We had rather be Jane Helm, with her creed founded on 
superstition and ignorance, doing good in slums and dens 
of vice, than that Spiritualist, whose belief or creed is 
founded on the ROCK OF TRUTH, but who, in his entire 
life, had never in word, thought, or deed, attempted to 
redeem a human soul traveling the downward road to 
ruin. 

Each one should get in tune with vibrations from the 
spheres of exalted souls, and thus secure their active aid; 
if Jane Helm could do it with a creed that has no basic 
foundation in TRUTH, how much easier it is for you. 
Spiritualists, to attain the same end with a belief that is 
correct in all respects. 

81 



HONESTY -THE REVERSED POSITIONS. 



i. 

Count Tolstoi's Parable. 

"A charming, short parable entitled, 'Where love is, 
there God is also,' by Tolstoi, tells how a poor, little, old 
shoemaker, Martiun Avdyeitch, was started from the sleep, 
into which he had fallen when reading the gospel story 
of how Christ was neglected in the Pharisee's house by a 
voice saying, 'Martiun! ah, Martiun! look to-morrow on 
the street I am coming.' All next day he waits ex- 
pectant and wondering for the advent of our Lord. He 
takes in a half-frozen dvornik and gives him tea; he 
clothes a shivering woman and her starving child, and he 
composes a quarrel between an apple woman and a street 
arab. So the day passed and the darkness came. The 
moment Avdyeitch opened the Testament he recollected 
his last night's dream, and as soon as he remembered it, 
it seemed as though he heard some one stepping behind 
him. Avdyeitch looked around and saw there in a dark 
corner, as though people were standing; he was at a loss 
to know who they were. And a voice whispered in his 
ear, 'Martiun! ah, Martiun! did you not recognize me?' 
'Who?' uttered Avdyeitch. 'Me,' returned the voice. 'It 
is I.' And the dvornik stepped forth from the dark cor- 
ner. He smiled, and like a little cloud, faded away and 
soon vanished. The starving woman and her child, the 
apple woman, and the boy also appeared, to fade away, 
'It is I.' Avdyeitch's soul rejoiced; he putt on his eye 
glasses and began to read the gospel where It happened 
to open, and he read: 'Inasmuch as ye have done it 
unto the least of these my brethren ye have done it unto 
me.' 'And Avdyeitch,' says Tolstoi, in concluding the tale, 
'understood that his dream did not deceive him; that the 
Savior really called upon him that day, and he really re- 
ceived him.' " 

82 



II. 

The above illustrates a grand and beautiful truth 
whether an actual occurrence or not. There is one c 
of people on this earth who are non-producers — they are 
not really bad, nor are they really good. They sow not, 
nor do they reap. They are in many respects a nonentity. 
They have advanced far beyond the savage or cannibal; 
they will not steal from you, or treat you illegally; nor 
will they extend to you the hand of kindness when suf- 
fering from some deep bereavement. Many of them are 
scrupulously honest and just towards others, paying every 
cent they owe, and exacting from others their pound of 
flesh. They believe it is right to take the bed from under 
a poverty-stricken, dying woman to pay an honest debt. 

Jim Alexander was a Western man, distinguished for 
his great wealth, his scrupulous honesty, and his wonder- 
ful business capacity. He would, however, pursue a debtor 
with all the venom that a wolf would follow a fawn. 
Honest towards others, he demanded like treatment in 
return. 



III. 
On a bed in a little vine-clad hut, an old woman was 
deathly sick. Her life was rapidly ebbing away, and the 
daylight of existence vanishing like the sun's rays as they 
retreat behind a portentous storm-cloud. Her features 
were pale and ghost-like, and expressions of sunshine and 
shade flitted over her features like so many phantoms 
across the embers of a dying fire. Yet on her face was 
that mellow tenderness and divine pathos that at times 
illuminate the soul of a poet who is vibrating with tender 
emotions from the spheres of light and love. Her voice 
had subsided into a mere whisper, and yet it was sub- 
limely loving in its expression, as if intoned with the Bi 
influences of an angel right from highest spheres. In 
the lowly walks, with none of the accompaniments of 
wealth, there is often manifested that grandeur of soul 
that allies one to the high and pure of the spirit realms. 
There is often more of the angelic in the lowly walks of 
life than in the palatial residence. The great workers, 
the stalwart reformers, those saviors thai came forth '•> 
usher in a new era, are all drawn from the lowly walks 

83 



of life. Within this sick woman there was a fragment 
of heaven bearing the impress, apparently, of divinity. 
Her thoughts, grandly beautiful, went forth as angels of 
light, to illuminate the spiritual atmosphere of earth, and 
gladden the hearts of others. While lying there she had 
a vision: The earth fades away, the darkness recedes, 
the troubles of her life vanish like the frost when bathed 
by the autumn sun, and she finds herself surrounded with 
angel visitants, who greet her with unbounded kindness 
and love. A husband comes and folds her in his arms; 
a darling child taken from her when resting in her arms, 
presses its sweet lips to hers and fondles her with child- 
ish love. There is a divine sweetness in the very air, 
and the flowers seem in her presence to grow in beauty 
and stateliness, and all things conspire to render her 
happy. Eut finally it was announced that she must go 
back to earth for a short time, to pass through a heart- 
rending experience. She did so reluctantly — almost re- 
sisting. As she neared her earthly home she lost con- 
sciousness for a moment only, and then she was in full 
possession of her physical body, and awakened as from 
a dream. Alas! where was she? She was lying on the 
floor of her room," without a vestige of bedding — her 
home completely stripped of everything in it. Alas! 
What had transpired? It was soon explained by a poverty- 
stricken neighbor, who brought a pallet of straw for her 
to lie upon, and an old blanket to cover her nakedness. 
During the time she had the pleasant vision, Jim Alexan- 
der had sent the constable to get her earthly possessions, 
as he had a mortgage thereon, and was entitled to them 
in the "eyes of the law." They were his by legal right! 
The debt was due, and the poor, dying woman could never 
pay it. Jim Alexander never took a cent wrongfully; 
he only exacted the pound of flesh to which he was enti- 
tled — so saith the law. But were not the angels thought- 
ful to take this old lady to the spirit side of life, that she 
might escape one hard-hearted scene, and catching a 
glimpse of heaven, she would pass away more tranquilly. 
She did not live long, as she gazed upon her home, now 
a complete wreck. The summons at last came for her 
spirit to leave its worn-out casket and ascend to a sphere 

84 



where there are no mortgages or land sharks, and where 
love reigns supreme. 

IV. 
But what of Jim Alexander? He thought evil of no 
one; he thought good only of self. He never in his whole 
life sent forth a high and holy aspiration. He would not 
think of stripping one of his earthly possessions without 
he had a mortgage thereon; nor would he exact a cent 
that did not legally belong to him. But his scrupulously 
exact honesty was the refinement of cruelty. His money 
wove a web of darkness around hundreds of happy homes. 
He sowed the seeds of misery, desolation and cruelty, 
wherever misfortune had crept. The unfortunate were 
his willing victims, who, once drawn into his avaricious 
tentacles, could not escape therefrom. His honesty was 
his shield, for he had kept within the domain of the law. 
If you, reader, have the exacting honesty of Jim Alexan- 
der, and follow his line of conduct, may God and the 
angels pity you. Such honesty as he possessed is never 
recorded in heaven, nor placed to the credit of any mortal. 
The earthly possessions of such a man may swell into 
the millions, and he may walk with stately tread, and 
be a favorite with those who worship mammon, yet spirit- 
ually he is a pauper. 



V. 

Finally it is recorded that Jim Alexander died! His 
funeral sermon was preached by a high-salaried minister 
of the gospel, and his body was encased in a costly coffin, 
and he was buried with all the pomp and splendor that 
wealth could command. The minister extolled his virtues, 
and spoke of his successful life, and the scene ended by 
placing the remains in the earth to be eaten by worms. 

There was another scene hid from mortal eyes. The 
spirit of Jim Alexander attended his own funeral. The 
Angel of Light, with pitying eyes, stood near him to 
assist him in witnessing the last ordeal through which his 
earthly remains would pass before being consigned to 
their last resting-place. Divested of his earthly body and 
wealth, his exact status as a spirit was most truthfully 
shown. Poverty-stricken now. he presented a bad spec- 
tacle, and seemed the picture of despair and desolation. 

85 



But who was the Angel of Light that stood by him, and 
spoke kindly unto him? It was the poor old woman whom 
he had stripped of her earthly possessions, and left to 
die in abject poverty. 



VI. 

Thus it is that positions are changed when the spirit 
side of life is reached. Be careful I say, for exact honesty 
will never make you spiritually wealthy, unless supple- 
mented with high and holy aspirations. The mortgage- 
shark, who lives for gain alone, and has no thought for 
the welfare of others, though scrupulously honest, will 
find that spiritually he is a pauper. The welfare of others 
should be uppermost in the mind of everyone all the 
time. Do not supplement your honesty with meanness, 
nor exercise your right to the extent of stripping a sick 
woman of her last bed. A legal right put into officers' 
hands may be a wrong and an outrage in the sight of 
heaven. Then we say to you, do not rely too much on 
you/r honesty to get you a high and exalted position on 
the spirit side of life, for it will avail you but little unless 
supplemented with charity, kindness, forbearance and 
brotherly love. 

86 



MOW TO USMER IN TME MILLENNIUM. 



i. 

Much has been said in reference to a millennial day 
when all wrongs will be righted; when the sunshine will 
be more genial, the flowers richer with incense, the fruit 
more luscious and nourishing, all things needful more re- 
sponsive to the wisihes of man, the golden sunset richer in 
colors, and the morning dawn sweeter with the smiles of 
nature and the songs of birds. Then each human being 
will become a savior — to save some one beneath his sta- 
tion in life from pain and anguish, always making an ef- 
fort to elevate him or her by his own plane of happiness 
and comfort. But the millennium is not here yet with 
its golden stairs and its angelic scenes that lead to per- 
ennial happiness, where one can hold sweet communion 
with the brightest and wisest beings; as yet it is only a 
fairy-dream, with enchanted chambers where one's aspira- 
tions only have to be expressed to be realized and enjoyed 
— a happy delusion that for a time sends thrills of ecstatic 
pleasure through the soul, and presents scenes of oriental 
magnificence and luxury. With some the millennium is 
a golden stairway that leads out of misery into the glori- 
ous scenes of bliss; out of poverty into the gilded domain 
of wealth where every want is anticipated and supplied. 
It is the dream of all religions to experience sometime the 
enchanted millennium where all wrongs will be instantly 
righted and where pains will be turned to perennial joys 
of peace. Every individual expects to attain to the mil- 
lennial state sometime on the spirit side of life, the home 
of angels, and of Gods, so called. 



II. 
Leaving the world as it is expected to be sometime in 
the golden fairy-like millennial future, where thoughts 
are supposed to be really things — the thought of a man- 
sion producing one: the thought of a garden robed in 

87 



flowers of exquisite sweetness, bringing it right by your 
side; the thought of a fountain iridescent with all of na- 
ture's varied tints and colors, resulting in its standing out 
in bold relief before you; the thought of the warbling 
birds of the air with their songs baptized with the sweet 
dew of the morning bringing them before you with 
throats attuned to heaven's melody — leaving the world as 
it is expected to be in the millennial era, we draw in our 
fancy and step down on solid facts — the world as it is! 



III. 

While the millennium is not here with its bounteous 
blessings or benedictions, we still can begin to see its 
dawn in certain persons whose natures are mirrors which 
reflect the angel, the beauty of heaven and the grandeur 
of goodness, and the sweet peace and happiness that flows 
in rippling melody into the soul when toiling for others. 
They are mirrors which reflect sunshine from the smiles 
of love that proceed from the features of philanthropists 
on the spirit side of life. They are simply God-like. 
They labor incessantly for others; from the gardens of 
their souls go forth the sweet tendrils of affection that 
entwine themselves" around the unfortunate and draw 
them up to a higher plane. Their very thoughts are rich 
in philanthropic plans that, as they go forth, blossom into 
fruition in many different ways. They are angels who, in 
the disguise of mortals, walk in the darkness and gloom 
of earth, and dissipate the same with the charming radi- 
ance of their features and the vibrations of their warm, 
wholesome natures. The millennial dawn is beautifully 
foreshadowed in them, and were it not for their presence 
on earth, it would soon become a charnel house. Usually 
they are not on the rostrum, nor in the higher walks of 
life, nor in fashionable, exclusive circles. They seem to 
live to reflect like a mirror the millennial dawn, to fore- 
shadow the good time coming when the whole world will 
be linked together in bonds of fraternal love and good 
will. Are you such a mirror? Do you reflect in your 
life the millennial dawn? 

88 .... 



IV. 

There is nothing so beautiful, so angelic, or so God-like 
as a thoroughly good woman, whose love cords like sweet 
flower-laden vines, coil around in fond embrace i 
poor and unfortunate mortal, and draw them up higher, 
just as the sun's rays in the morning's golden dawn draw 
the dewdrops of the night up to sweeten the clouds before 
they send down their refreshing showers upon the earth. 
The thoroughly good woman is the advance courier of tin- 
millennial dawn and she in her works and deeds heralds 
the good time coming. The thoroughly good woman 
lives for others. Her life is a perennial source of good 
deeds and benedictions, as at one time related by a Chi- 
cago daily. 

She devoted herself to the one blessed task of looking 
after the children brought to the police station on various 
charges, and, if possible, preventing their entrance upon 
a criminal career. Some idea of the number of little 
creatures that our laws seem deliberately framed to injure 
may be obtained when it is stated that she goes to but one 
station-house and concerns herself only with prisoners 
under 14 years of age, and yet her time is more than occu- 
pied. To be sure, she has chosen the station for her base 
of operation where the business of five precincts is con- 
ducted. Here she is on hand every morning at 9 to see if 
there is not some way of saving the trembling lad who has 
broken a window or pilfered fruit, from being thrown into 
the companionship of older and more hardened offenders. 
She makes herself answerable for his future good behav- 
ior, she goes to his home and impresses his mother with 
the importance of seeing to his steady attendance at 
school; she goes to his teacher and arranges for Bpeclal 
oversight over that boy, including a report as t > whether 
he does or does not appear regularly at all sessions. For 
almost invariably children brought before the police sta- 
tion are children who have been playing truant and have 
been urged on by bad advice from older boys. 



V. 

Thus it is that the really gobd woman reflects like a 
mirror the millennial dawn, and assists in advancing the 

so 



world to a higher plane. Every human soul should be a 
mirror to reflect nothing but good deeds, generous im- 
pulses and philanthropic acts. That alone is the divine 
object of its mission. The human soul that reflects any- 
thing else is distorted, has never gained its proper adjust- 
ment, and is not in touch with the angels, and is now on a 
low plane. 



VI. 

"What are you doing, my good fellow?" I inquired of 
one of earth's unfortunate creatures, as I saw him emerg- 
ing from his room after a night's debauch. "I have been 
polishing myself, cleaning myself, shaving myself, and 
having a general housecleaning," he replied. "Hereafter 
1 propose to reflect from the mirror of my soul, all that is 
clean, pure and noble; good-by darkness and evil; good 
morning the light of a day scintillating with new hopes 
and high resolves. Early this morning, just as I was re- 
covering from the revelries of the previous night, my room 
seemed to become grandly illuminated, and there stood 
an angel sister, robed in white, with a smile of ineffable 
sweetness playing on her features, with its lights and 
shades, as if placed -there by the brush of one of heaven's 
own artists. Entranced I gazed, on the scene, while she 
in piteous tones pleaded with me, for my own dear moth- 
er's sake, to leave my wicked ways. Entwining her arms 
around my neck, she uttered a fervent prayer for my re- 
demption, and exacted a solemn promise from me, that 
henceforth my soul should be as a mirror to reflect noth- 
ing but pure thoughts, good deeds, generous impulses, 
and kind acts to lead to the redemption of the unfortu- 
nate. I stand forth redeemed!" 



VII. 
Thus a human soul, steeped in debauchery, was re- 
formed, resolving to reflect in a measure the millennial 
dawn when the whole world will stand forth redeemed. 
As the angel sister saved her erring brother, so should 
each one save somebody less fortunate, and so polish their 
natures that they will reflect nothing in their daily walks 
of life, but that which is pure and holy. Now is the 

90 



time to get in tune with vibrations from the spheres of 
exalted souls, thus securing their active aid, and aiding to 
usher in the Millennium dawn. 



THE LINE OP LEAST RESISTANCE. 



The mass of mankind are moving along what we shall 
designate as the LINE OF LEAST RESISTANCE. 

Those who are in our penitentiaries reach that dismal 
place of abode by moving along the line of least resist- 
ance. The Jail Bird who drifts into that insect-infected 
prison reached it through the line of least resistance. 
The poor misguided mortal who is working in the chain 
gang of a Southern convict camp, was assigned that dis- 
agreeable position, because he moved along the line of 
least resistance. The cruel monster, rotten with sin. who 
is hanged, owes his final punishment to working exclus- 
ively along the lines of least resistance. Rome, Greece and 
Egypt were swept from the earth because the great mass 
of their population moved along the line of least resist- 
ance. No one living speaks their languages — they are 
dead indeed! 

It is just as dangerous and suicidal for a nation to 
move along the line of least resistance as it is for the 
individual. No one can achieve salvation along spiritual 
lines by traversing the line of least resistance. It gen- 
erally leads to hell and destruction. The notorious Thaw 
of New York moved along the line of least resistant.. 
and in consequence was overwhelmed with trouble. 

It is far easier to win a hell, than it is to pain a 
heaven. 

You can DESCEND easier than you can ASCEND. 

The line of least resistance in the world of matter 
leads down; its contrariwise, onward and upward. 

Selfishness and the i>as<' passions always travel along 
the line of least resistance 

91 



You can step at once into the lowest hell, but thereto 
is the line of least resistance. The lowest hell can be 
reached almost at once. The highest heaven, to attain 
that wVl require an eternity almost. In Chicago, in its 
dark holes of iniquity and sin, you can see devils incar- 
nate; but Angels of Light and Love, a century may 
elapse before you can work your way to them, and look 
upon them in their radiance. It is extremely easy to go 
down into the cesspools of wretchedness, crime and misery, 
and in the end, maybe, the one who travels in that direc- 
tion, in the estimation of some wise spirits, will be blotted 
out of existence. 

As a man you may move along the lines of least resist- 
ance and consort in a filthy den of vice with a lewd 
female, and carry home with you a taint or a poisonous 
disease that will be transmitted to future generations in 
severe pains and loathsome disfigurements. The dark- 
ness of sin never blurs or blinds the eyes; the brilliancy 
of the Angel of Light is too great even to be seen by the 
depraved. Oh! the line of least resistance is a dangerous 
one, and leads into fields of darkness, desolation and 
despair. 

Falsehood, deception, impure thoughts, revengeful feel- 
ings, envy, jealousy, selfishness, uncharitableness, hatred, 
ribald amorous songs, licentiousness and the free play of 
the animal passions are SIGN BOARDS along the line of 
least resistance, leading into a pit of darkness, where no 
angelic light can enter. Those sign boards lead down- 
ward, never upwards. An angel can not enter some of 
the Pits of Darkness, nor can the demon enter the doors 
that lead to ineffable happiness and bliss. Traveling 
along the line of least resistance tends to the gradual ob- 
literation of all those refined spiritual feelings, aspira- 
tions, and high ideals, until finally all are utterly extin- 
guished, and, says a wise sage, the soul itself possibly 
may be dissipated, and consciousness lost forever, as set 
forth by that well known speaker and medium, Mrs. M. T. 
Longley. 

There are always subtle charms, blandishments, attrac- 
tions, amorous similes, and enlivening beverages scattered 
all along the line of least resistance, to lead the unwary 



astray. Look at yonder House of Sin, how loathsome 
to one who is on the ascending grade. How dismal and 
satanic the scene! One of the inmates has descended 
down to the lowest depths of wretchedness and depravity. 
Her spirit is tainted, her soul is tainted, her mind Is 
tainted, her body is tainted. She reached her present con- 
dition very easily indeed by continually traversing the line 
of least resistance. Can she return to her virgin purity 
and loveliness as a sweet girl of seventeen? Yes, by an 
exceedingly slow and tedious process. You can roil the 
spring in one minute, and make the water unfit to drink, 
several hours, or a whole day, may be required to clear 
it again. A single night of revelry, dissipation and carnal 
sin, while traversing the line of least resistance may dis- 
figure one's self, so badly that many years may be re- 
quired to remove the stain. 

It was easy for Nero to burn Rome, but utterly im- 
possible for him to rebuild it. It is easy to destroy, but 
most difficult to reinstate. When on the line of least re- 
sistance, there are certain carnal charms, libidinous pleas- 
ures and fascinating vibrations that render the spiritual 
nature dark and loathsome. 

It was Julia Helen, as the daily papers said. She was 
found sick in a House of Sin and midnight revelry, and 
removed to the hospital. She had traveled along the line 
of least resistance since nineteen years of age — a beauti- 
ful girl, gifted in music and educated and reared with an- 
gelic care. She had given birth to an illegitimate child, 
under promise of marriage, and with the finger of scorn 
emitting a poisonous influence, pointed at her, she drifted 
away from home, came to Chicago, and in desperation 
joined the dark dismal ranks of the Magdalens. Yet 
during her whole career at times angelic feelings in her 
lacerated soul would assert themselves, and she would 
clasp her hands and gaze heavenward, and utter the 
childish prayer she had learned in her girlhood to repeal 
while her mother gazed upon her with that divine love 
which only a mother can express, and then think of some 
way of escape from the dreadful life she was Hying. On 
a cot in the hospital, as the disease drew closer to her 
vitals, the innocence of her girlhood, as beautiful and 

93 



fair as a poet's dream, seemed to scintillate in her nature, 
and a radiant influence appeared to center upon her, just 
as the rays of the morning sun caress the flowers which 
have been bathed in the sweet dewdrops, and she felt 
an exalted angelic influence, and why? Because she was 
not bad by nature, but that heaven-born quality had been 
badly darkened by traversing the line of least resistance, 
but finally commenced asserting itself. The mists of 
darkness seemed to grow less, and she asked the attentive 
nurse whence came the charming music she had heard? 
The nurse could hear none, and thought her delirious. 
In whispers she impressed upon the nurse she heard the 
music so divinely sweet, so touching, so angelically sympa- 
thetic and soothing. I am surprised," she whispered, 
"that you cannot hear it. I do. I cannot be deceived." 
And the nurse bending over her heard her faint whisper, 
"Who was that beautiful lady who was by my cot last 
night, her features all aglow with light and love, and she 
laid her hand upon my head, and said I was not bad by 
nature; that I was forced into the dark life by the scorn 
heaped upon me by former friends, and that from this 
time on, my progress out of dark conditions would be 
rapid?" And then her features became illuminated with 
a light divine, and her eyes were turned upward and 
she faintly whispered, "The darkness is receding; it is 
growing lighter; I see my mother," and then relaxing, 
she expired while the nurse with tears in her eyes was 
bending over her. Those who are not degenerates, who 
are not bad by nature, and who sometimes are forced as 
it were on to the line of least resistance, are often quick 
to reform, and quick to learn the right way. 

94 



A NEW VIEW OP HAPPINESS. 



"The Owner <>f the Universe." 

"Let us corner up the sunbeams 

Lying all around our path; 
Get a trust on wheat and roses; 

Give the poor the thorns and chaff, 
Let us find our chiefest pleasure 

Hoarding bounties of to-day, 
So the poor shall have scant measure 

And two prices have to pay. 

"Yes we'll reservoir the rivers, 

And we'll levy on the lakes; 
And we'll lay a trifling poll tax 

On each poor man who partakes; 
We'll brand his number on him 

That he'll carry all his life; 
We'll apprentice all his children, 

Get a mortgage on his wife. 

"We'll capture e'en the wind god, 

And confine him in a cave; 
And then, through our patent process, 

We the atmosphere will save; 
Thus we'll squeeze our little brother 

When his lungs he tries to fill, 
Put a meter on his wind-pipe 

And present our little bill. 

"We will syndicate the starlight, 

And monopolize the moon! 
Claim a royalty on rest days, 

A proprietary noon; 
For right of way through ocean's spray 

We'll charge just what it's worth; 
And drive our slakes around the lakes — 

In fact, we'll own the earth." 
9 5 



Corners exist almost everywhere on this terrestrial 
sphere; corners in wheat, corn, pork, stocks and bonds. 
In fact, there is a corner on what is designated as happi- 
ness, and in order to fully enjoy a modicum of that 
blessing, which should be the birthright of all, constant 
exertion is necessary. There is even a corner on bap- 
tismal rites — only a minister of the gospel can adminis- 
ter them. A corner, too, in the confessional, for only 
a Catholic priest can officiate there. A corner in the 
atonement, it being confined entirely to the death of 
Jesus. A corner in heaven — only those can go there who 
pursue a certain religious route. A corner in purgatory, 
the Catholic priest being able, it is said, to send there 
any one whom he excommunicates! A corner in the blood 
of the Savior! A corner in the vicinity of the throne of 
God! A corner in the approving smiles of Divine Provi- 
dence — the gospel teachers dealing exclusively with them! 
There are as many corners in religion as there are sects! 
There is a corner in hell — the Devil having supreme 
charge; in fact there is no end in corners established by 
those who are seeking happiness here and hereafter. 

When the revivalist invites you to approach God in his 
way, it is solely for the purpose of getting you in a cor- 
ner. When you partake of wine and bread as a part of 
the blood and body of Jesus, you are badly cornered. 
When you pray God for special blessings, it is only to 
establish a corner. Each church thinks it has a corner on 
God's blessings! The Devil is the exclusive ownership 
of the churches — they have a corner on him. Corners 
exist everywhere in this selfish, benighted world. No 
sooner does one write a book than he corners it with a 
copyright. The inventor corners his machine by patent- 
ing peculiarities in its construction, and thus keeping it 
from general use! See what a corner at one time on 
sewing machines, reapers and mowers! The happiness 
of this world, it is thought, can only be gained by corner- 
ing something, when in fact, true happiness can only be 
gained in that domain where there are no corners in 
religion, in finance, in mechanics, in land, in the air we 
breathe, and the food we eat. 

96 



All are yearning for happiness; each one has an esti- 
mate as to what constitutes happiness. Amber ;i 
"Happy? What does it mean to be happy, I wonder? 
Does it not all too often mean to be selfish? To take 
an active part in nobody's advancement but your own.' 
To shut your ears to the cry of the needy, and to pass by 
on the other side when certain groans from the thicket 
proclaim that a wayfarer has come to grief, and is In 
need of bandages and balm? To be hard-hearted, in- 
different to human sorrow, impervious to the awful de- 
mands of the abused and long-suffering brute creation 9 
To wear your pocket buttoned tight over your heart, and 
to feather your own nest, whatever birds go bare? Does 
it not mean to wear fine clothes, forgetful that others 
crouch in rags, and to eat white bread and honey while 
others starve on treacle and tears? To sum it all up, 
according to the worldly idea of what constitutes a good 
time, are not the happy the light-hearted? A light heart 
has little depth; it is but a rill of shallow water, never 
a fathomless sea; a jig played on a banjo, never a dia- 
pason struck from the soul of a mighty organ. The 
happy ones, then, are the careless ones, the feather- 
headed ones, the thoughtless and the heartless ones 
Nobody ever yet inherited a deep nature who did not also 
inherit the capacity for sorrow. Nobody ever yet was 
kind, and sympathetic, and true, but what he was 
oftener unhappy than happy. Nobody ever yet was lov- 
ing who did not often go sorrowing, and nobody ever 
yet traveled this world with open eyes and unstopped 
ears but what those eyes shed many tears. If to be happy 
I must forego the joy that springs from self-sai rifi< - 
and the reward that follows the effort to lift the vast 
burden of unmerited suffering thai Falls to the lot 
the helpless and the voiceless, I would rather be unhappy. 
The world's standard of what constitutes happiness dif- 
fers largely from the estimate placed upon it by the 
tered handful of God's people who Bpend their lives in 
binding up wounds and comforting desolate hearts. For 
l hem to be happy, means as much more than the so- 
called happiness of the selfish ami self-seeking as the 

97 



swell of the sea means more than the ripple of a reedy 
rill." 

No one should make a corner on happiness; it is the 
birthright of each one of God's children. To corner it 
is to lose it. The girl whose happiness consists in her 
beauty, knows that it will soon vanish, leaving her like 
a withered branch in the fall time. You can't make a 
corner on true happiness by money, nor purchase a ticket 
on the Golden Route to Paradise. No one can be truly 
happy without at times being, to a certain degree, miser- 
able. No one can approach the higher spheres, nor per- 
fection, nor the grander attainments, nor place himself 
in unison with the higher influences, nor bask in the 
radiant sunshine of angelic love, without at times feeling 
sweeping over the soul those vibrations that come from 
lacerated hearts. Goodness never brought happiness from 
a worldly standpoint; but genuine goodness invariably 
brings a certain degree of misery. To be good, do good, 
to strive for the elevation of others, to sow seeds of kind- 
ness, charity, love and all the other cardinal virtues, can 
not, from the very nature of things, be productive of the 
world's view of happiness. The ordinary conception of 
happiness is ease of mind, a satisfied stomach; a cheerful 
mood; a calm, unruffled demeanor, a restful state, result- 
ing from inactivity — self-satisfaction throughout! In 
true happiness there is no worldly self-satisfaction, but 
a constant yearning for greater activity and a larger field 
in which to do good and be good. 

When on one occasion James Stillman came home from 
a distant journey after months of absence, he thought he 
had a corner on happiness. He was met by his amiable 
wife at the threshold, and her sweet lips pressed to his 
and her head pillowed on his shoulder, with tears glisten- 
ing with love, she breathed upon him the incense of 
heaven! And then his children — caressing them, his hap- 
piness, from a worldly standpoint of view, was com- 
plete — he asked nothing more! Bed time came, and all 
on bended knees, the father offered up a fervent prayer 
to heaven for the numerous blessings bestowed upon 
him. Each night and morning there was religious devo- 
tion. And shortly an infectious disease entered that home. 

98 



The youngest died first, and the others followed in quick 
succession. On the evening of the burial of the last one 
of four children, Stillman kneeled in prayer, but he only 
said: "O God, we thank thee." Then he burst into tears. 
That prayer was never finished. "Amen" was never 
uttered! In fact, Stillman never prayed again! A new 
revelation had come to him. Before he had never known 
anything of the chemistry of sorrow! His soul was 
almost bursting with emotion, with deep distress and 
agony, and through the misty gloom a new happiness was 
revealed to him. He commenced reasoning from cause 
to effect. He had always served God faithfully, as he 
thought, and his prayers had been unanswered, and four 
little mounds in the graveyard concealed his darling 
loved ones. But a lesson was taught him. His happi- 
ness was rounded out in the quickening of his perception 
in regard to the assertion of Humboldt: "The universe 
is governed by fixed laws." 

From the very nature of things selfish, worldly happi- 
ness is not commendable. Ease, contentment, self-satis- 
faction, and perennial cheerfulness are, in a certain sense, 
the enemies of progress — a species of mental and physical 
laziness. The flower in the backyard had a hard time be- 
fore it burst into rainbow-tinted hues. Debris, old bot- 
tles, and pieces of glass interfered with its rootlet In 
forcing its way to the light of heaven. It required a 
struggle to reach a height where it could be caressed by 
the sunshine and be bathed by heaven's dew-drops. There 
is debris all around the struggling soul. Crime in 
churches, ministers of the gospel sinning; city councils 
selling their votes; juries bribed; judges sell their opin- 
ions, and everywhere offenses are rank. The noble, aspir- 
ing soul can never be truly happy until the world shall 
have so changed that corruption has ceased to exist, and 
each one becomes a law unto himself. 

While poverty, sorrow, misery, pain, hunger and sick- 
ness exist among a large portion of Cod's children, each 
advanced human soul — each God-like sou] each soul 
pulsating with divine truths, will r« i ci the effects <»f the 
Bame; a. vibratory Influence will sweep over one at times, 
and he will feel impelled to work tor the elevation or 

!♦{) 



humanity, and to thank God that he is not happy in a 
worldly sense, for only the calloused soul, the hardened 
soul, the soul that enters into no reformatory work can 
be happy from a worldly standpoint. Bear in mind, then, 
that TO DO GOOD AND BE GOOD, bringing you closely 
in contact with a sorrowing and sinful world, while you 
do not increase your temporary happiness from a worldly, 
selfish standpoint, you are gradually advancing towards 
a plane of ineffable beauty and grandeur where that 
higher happiness will burst in on you in full fruition; 
and you will find that in losing the selfish, worldly, 
miserly happiness, you have gained those higher attain- 
ments — THE CROWNING GLORY OF A MFE WELL 
SPENT. 

To get in tune with the vibrations from the spheres of 
exalted souls you can not be worldly happy; for worldly 
happiness is always more or less selfish. It is not easy 
to be placed in touch with the Angels of Light and Love, 
for their vibrations are wholly devoid of selfishness in 
the broadest and most comprehensive sense of that term. 



MALIGNITY RUINED MARY BALL 



i. 

There is no condition of the mind that is more de- 
plorable than that state commonly designated as malig- 
nity or unquenchable hatred. Milton says: 
"I see thou art unplacable, more deaf 

To prayers than winds and seas; yet winds and seas 
Are reconciled at length and sea to shore; 

The anger, unappeasable, still rages, 

Eternal tempests never to be calm." 

That person who nurtures a cruel, relentless, malignant 
spirit, is clasping to his bosom a monster that will blacken 

100 



his spiritual nature, deaden his moral perceptions, ham- 
per his intuitions, and effectually block the road of pro- 
gress, and prevent the ingress of high and exalted thoughts 
into his soul. 

"You do not know how hate can burn 

In hearts once changed from soft to stern; 

Nor all the false and fatal zeal 

The convert of revenge can feel," 
unless you first become a brutal monster, a man-beast, or 
a devil; in fact, until then you can not realize the awful 
condition of that person who manifests an unforgiving 
spirit, and who refuses to receive back into the Family 
circle an erring daughter who plaintively pleads for for- 
giveness; who seeks with tear-stained eyes, and with a 
heart that is surging with emotions of genuine sorrow 
and repentance, to be again admitted to the home circle; 
who supplicates, implores, — yea, cries to have the portals 
of her parent's hearts opened again towards her, that 
she may once more feel the sunshine of their Love, and 
by noble deeds atone for her misstep in life, but who 
meets with nothing but repulses; who sees pointing taunt- 
ingly and maliciously towards her the hydraheaded finger 
of scorn, instead of the beckoning arms of filial affection. 
and who finally, after doing all that a penitent child 
could do to soften her parents malignity, plunges into the 
dark abyss of despair — seeks relief from the horrors of 
her surroundings through suicide. She had said to her 
father: 

"Thou shalt not force me from thee; 
Use me reproachfully and like a slave; 
Tread on me, buflet me, heap wrong on wrongs, 
On my poor head; I'll bear it with all patience, 
Shall weary out the most unfriendly cruelty; 
Lie at thy feet, and kiss them, though they spurn me, 
Till wounded by my Bufferings thou relent 
And raise me to thy arms with dear Forgiven 

The father would not relent. Look at the sleuth -hound 
pursuing the innocent fawn: gaze upon the boaconstrict- 
or coiling around the victim of 11 look at the 

venom of the cobra, and at the deadly Bting of the i 

101 



pedes; gaze at all that is low, vile and devilish, and be- 
hold them all combined in one human being, a father 
who crushes with the coils of his hate the gentle spirit of 
his daughter. 

As the tragic tale runs, which occurred many years 
ago, and which we select as one of the "purest" cases of 
malignity that ever existed. Mary Ball was enticed 
from her home by a commercial traveler. By a false 
marriage, he induced her to come to Chicago. After arriv- 
ing here she learned that the marriage ceremony which 
she supposed to have been performed, was false. Poor, 
deluded child, heart-broken, she immediately returned 
home, but her father positively declined to receive her. 
Almost distracted the disheartened girl sought refuge at 
Wellsboro, Ohio, with some friends. Her father, not 
content to let his wayward child alone, maliciously fol- 
lowed her, drove her from there, and she was then com- 
pelled to seek an asylum in Pittsburg, and finally by the 
force of circumstances she was actually driven to a house 
of prostitution. Well educated, remarkably pretty, and 
with a soul that yearned for purity of life, her descent 
under the circumstances was really heart-rending. 

The pathetic story of her difficulties with her father 
were written up in the Pittsburg papers and created at 
the time no little comment; but they did not bring a ray 
of sunshine to the heart of this despairing young girl; 
they gave her no hope — nothing on which she could clutch 
to keep from sinking. In all the darkness of her soul 
while struggling to once more stand an honored member 
of society, did she lose all regard for herself, nor the 
recollections of the days of innocence. Finally she gave 
way to despair! Her father's heart was closed against 
her like a granite rock; her mother, too, turned from 
her, and then she purchased a revolver. 

Picture the agony of that young girl; see the dismal, 
sorrow-breeding clouds of her soul, as they shade her 
eyes, darken her features, and surge forth in her plaintive 
sighs, as tremulous as the emotions of pity that linger 
sweetly on the lips of an angel, who bends tenderly over 
the despairing victim of a father's heartless vengeance. 
Oh! how she regrets her wayward step, and how ini- 

102 



patiently she watches the lingering moments on the dial 
plate of time, hoping the next one will come freighted 
with a message of love and forgiveness from the home or 
her childhood, so that she can step forward — REDEEMED! 
They come — each one — with only a wailing agony of de- 
spair for her poor, lacerated soul. Finally she claps the 
revolver desperately in her hands, and fires the fatal shot! 
Poor Mary Ball is no more on earth! 

II. 
The daughter, suffering acutely from the pangs of re- 
morse, and her every emotion a wish to heaven for for- 
giveness, and her every thought prayer-crowned and ren- 
dered beautiful with aspirations that would be an honor 
to any of earth's children, it seems very strange that In 
this enlightened nineteenth century, her own father should 
repulse; yea, more, pursue her with unparalleled venom, 
and throw obstacles in the way of her reformation. He 
should, on the contrary, have awaited her penitential re- 
turn, with an anxious heart and outstretched arms. When 
the Arctic survivors returned to New York, it is said that 
Lieutenant Danenbower, who had recognized his parents 
as soon as the vessels were near enough to distinguish 
faces and forms, waited for no gang plank, but simply 
swung himself to the bridge of the tug-boat, where he 
was met by his brother-in-law, Schenck. After embrac- 
ing and kissing him, his first question was, "Where is 
Rae?" meaning his sister, Schenck's wife, but without 
waiting for a reply he bounded towards his mother, 
whose arms remained outstretched all the while to em- 
brace him, and after two years' weary watching and wait- 
ing, the mother and son were united in tears of joy. They 
remained in this touching position for several mil 
without exchanging a word, when the manly fellow em- 
braced his father and brother, who were also weeping. 
Returning to his mother, he said, "Mother, let 
into the cabin; I have so much to say to yon." 

Here were anxious parents awaiting the return of a Bon 
from the Arctic regions, and they greeted him with tender 
tones of endearment. Should not the return <>f B way- 
ward daughter, from a more dangerous and appalling 
journey than the exploration of Arc tic seas, receive a like 

103 



tender and cordial greeting, while over her lacerated soul 
should be kindly placed the mantle of forgiveness? 

III. 
Mary Ball, once in spirit life, met at the threshold those 
who had seen her aspirations as they surged heavenward 
as brilliant as the smiles of an angel; who heard her 
heart-rending prayers; who saw her pathetic struggle to 
be forgiven by her parents, and her earnest effort to be 
good and do good, and who gave her a cordial reception 
to a sphere where all her desires to advance will receive 
hearty approval and recognition. Verily, verily, though 
a woman of the town, Mary Ball was nearer God, nearer 
the angels, nearer those wise sages who can survey the 
nature of each one, than her parents who repulsed her 
when she tenderly sought their forgiveness. Nurse ma- 
lignity, nurse hate, nurse envy, nurse covetousness, and 
nurse an unforgiving selfish spirit, and you can no more 
enter the spheres of light than a demon can. They are 
the currency of Hell. TO DO GOOD and BE GOOD is 
the currency of Heaven. Choose this day between the two. 



WON PROM THE DEPTHS. 



General Booth Greeted by 1,000 Ex-Drunkards. 

London, England. — One thousand ex-drunkards, preach- 
ing on how they were "won from the depths," was the 
feature of a great Salvation Army festival at the Crystal 
Palace. The occasion was the forty-third anniversary of 
the foundation of the Army, and the return of General 
William Booth from his fifth automobile preaching tour 
through Great Britain. General Booth, who is seventy- 
nine years old, continues to astonish the world with his 
wonderful energy. He has started on another automobile 
tour, this time ij> South Africa, and early in 1909 he will 

10* 



be motoring on the Continent in continuation of his cam- 
paign. 

"Won from the Depths!" There is a wonderfully im- 
pressive significance to that expression. It has a tremu- 
lous sympathetic vibration that touches the soul like the 
plaintive expiring tones of an Alpine horn, warning trav- 
elers of an approaching storm. There is tender pathos 
and a divine pulsation in the word "redeemed" — "Won 
from the depths" — coming out of the extreme dark] 
and desolation of degradation and sin into the light of a 
soul illuminated by General William Booth, who in his 
God-like work of redeeming the fallen, the outcast, the 
one steeped in sin, exhibits a nature that in some respects 
at least is vibrating on a high plane. However false a 
creed may be, it having no basic foundation in truth, it 
it is tolerant of the rights of others and has the right 
ethical foundation in all respects, and devotes itself to 
redeeming those in the slums, those tainted with sin. 
and dwarfed spiritually and intellectually, it certainly 
can be instrumental in doing a grand work. 

General Booth devotes his attention to unfortunate 
mortals like the following, as related in the Chicago 
Daily News, when on one occasion, bowed down with the 
weight of a confessed life of dissipation in the dark and 
hideous slums of Chicago, where vice and misery had 
eliminated every mark of past refinement, spirituality, and 
culture, Mrs. Rhody Wagner, 60 years old, whose aggre- 
gated sentences served in the Bridewell amount to l'J 
years, stood before Municipal Judge Gemmill at the Har- 
rison street court and asked to be sent there again 
a long period. She told her story in a hoarse voice, tainted 
with depraved vibration, confessed to 1km- past life, and 
s;iid she was friendless and homeless and without any 
means of support. 

•■Send me there again, your honor," said the woman 

"[ haven't any home QOr :i friend i" go tO I am a 

wreck from whisky. Once I was recognised by the world, 

but that was so long ago i< seems like another lii'.- I 
haven't any hope. Giv< out there." 

When tiu> judge Inquired Into her past she related 
a broken voice bow she came to Chi ir thirty 

105 



ago from England after she had become involved in a 
family quarrel. She was then a teacher of music and elo- 
cution. She drifted about Chicago, failing to find a legit- 
imate business, and was drawn into the maelstrom of 
the great human undercurrent and gradually became a 
social outcast. For over twenty-five years Mrs. Wagner 
has been known to the police and her name is found in 
many places in the arrest book. 

With such a depraved class, there seems to be but little 
hope, yet to them General William Booth devotes his 
attention, and he redeems many. 

A religious belief, even if founded on the stable bed- 
rock of ever enduring truth, is but of extremely little 
good to the world, unless it bears fruitage in philanthropic 
work, in some one or more of its multifarious forms. Of 
what value is the cherry tree if it produce no cherries? 
The apple tree, if it cease to be productive; the peach 
tree, if it bring forth no blossoms, no luscious fruit, and 
a hundred other things, if they cease to be fruitful. Prac- 
tical reformatory, educational and philanthropic work 
that will bear fruit, tending to elevate and refine the 
human soul, is what the world needs now. Is Spiritualism 
all that can be desired in that respect, with its soul-inspir- 
ing truths, and 10,000,000 of converts? Where in its 
entire ranks is there one who, like General Booth, ha_s 
"won from the depths," 1,000 depraved souls? Who 
among that 10,000,000 has planned a philanthropic work, 
like the Chicago Tribune, at its hospitals at Algonquin? 
Just consider one single day's report from there last sum- 
mer — healthy, romping girls and boys from the City's un- 
wholesome streets, where no really natural pleasures ex- 
ist, make merry, with fishing, swimming, building bon- 
fires, driving, playing games, and all the unaccustomed 
joys of the country. Tiny, emaciated bits of babies, 
starved and diseased by the food and air of the tenements, 
fight for life under the tender care of nurses. Wan, weak 
mothers, exhausted by toil and poverty or recovering 
from severe operations, sit under the trees, motionless, 
for hours, absorbing the country air and sunshine and 
passively enjoying in every fiber the long awaited rest. 
And they are all patients of this unusual hospital. 

106 



The frail woman with the hands hard and calloused bj 
labor, with no disease but utter exhaustion and despair, 
the baby with no disease but lack of food, the boys and 
girls with no disease but lack of boyhood and girlhood, 
are all patients, they are all undergoing treatment tor 
their particular ailments. 

The girls are being treated when they dance around the 
bonfires at night and sing. All medicine does not conn 
in bottles or boxes is the motto of The Tribune hospital. 

One night there was an especially gorgeous bonfire for 
the benefit of the forty-four new patients, depressed with 
sorrow and misfortune, who arrived, seeking health, com- 
fort and relaxation from the constant strain of poverty, in 
gaining enough to keep body and soul together. A 
whole tree was chopped down and burned to make an 
Algonquin holiday. Fish were fried and there was an 
unusually brilliant and entertaining program of im- 
promptu songs, recitations, and dances. 

In the Algonquin hospital we have in a limited degree 
an illustration of the Angelic Spirit. However much it 
may be tainted with a creed, or with the odor of orthodoxy, 
or superstition, or wrong views as to the future life, Its 
fruitage is apparent, is real, is wholesome, and soul- 
cheering. 

One weary mother, Mrs. Kate Sullivan, came from 
there with her features wreathed with a smile of satisfac- 
tion, although she realized that she was gradually dying. 
Tuberculosis, the dread disease, had taken possession of 
her frame, which had been weakened by dire poverty, 
anxiety, and one unremitting struggle for a mere exist- 
ence. To her the country was charming; every So 
seemed to her to have a soul; the singing of the birds 
was to her an angel choir, and the gardens and fruitage 
dripping with dew, seemed to have been caused by the 
sweet breath of invisible messengers of love and charity, 
and the atmosphere accompanying the rising and Betting 
of the sun tinged with rainbow tinted hues, Beemed to 
her like a baptism from God himself. The voices of the 
boys and girls as they raced over tin* green grass, OF 
played some frolicsome game, or gave their hearty cheers 
for the Algonquin Charity Home, were far Bweeter to her 

107 



than the music in a white sepulchred church produced by 
organ and choir — "Nearer, My God, to Thee, Nearer to 
Thee." Every little incident at Algonquin to her seemed 
to be one note in an anthem that had been baptized with 
the soul-inspiring influence of a Mozart or Beethoven, and 
as the vibration in an undertone trilled through the 
grass, the trees, shrubbery, the water and the very rocks, 
an echo came back that caused emotions to spring up in 
her soul, emotions that seemingly transplanted from a 
watching angel's heart to her own, made her feel as if 
she was looking through the very windows of heaven, 
and for a time she was exquisitely happy, for she was 
oblivious to self, to the hectic flush, the terrible cough, 
the weak condition of her limbs, and her desolate condi- 
tion; she had forgotten them all as she lay on a cot, 
seemingly in a trance, her feature aglow with a divine 
light, the resultant radiation of angelic thoughts that were 
surging in her soul, for she in her extreme poverty and 
loneliness, was on a far higher spiritual plane than those 
around her. A visit to Algonquin even as an object of 
charity, had made "her feel more kindly towards all hu- 
manity, and she returned to Chicago and her desolate 
room — to die. A kindly elderly gentleman had given her 
$2 5, and thanking him profusely, she told him that 
amount would see her through till the end — and it did. 
As if anticipating the end that very night, as she had 
dreamed she would, she dressed herself as neatly as possi- 
ble, lay down on her bed, went to sleep and awakened 
in spirit life. There on the morrow she was found with 
a copy of the following poems clutched in her hand, indi- 
cating she had been reading them before retiring to 
rest: 

What the Angels Say. 

Wings of truth are wafting o'er us — 
Wings of truth from realms above; 

Angel voices whisper to us 

Potent words of light anfl love. 

Those we've loved are watching o'er us — 

Those we thought were far removed: 

108 



Angel teachers come to tell us 
How our lives may be Improved. 

Lines of character expansion — 
Lines that point us to ideals — 

Are inspired for our instruction 

By the friends from psychic fields. 

Safes of gold they term but paltry; 

Safes of deeds and script the same 
There is nothing rich and lofty 

In the wealth which men proclaim. 

Honest minds they say are better; 

Truthful tongues and upright ways: 
And the man who plays the brother 

Worthy is of sweetest lays. 



"Our Immortal Hope." 

Mother, whose voice long since stilled, 
Whose memory like the fragrant flowers of Bpring 
Hovers around the heart and home to-night. 
And haunts the silence of these evening hours. 
Brother, loved above all my earthly friends, 
Thy vacant place as yet unfilled, a void 
In heart and home; the thought of thee 
Causes the waves of sorrow to be stilled. 

Beside your graves to-day I knelt in prayer, 

Life's sadness filled my heart and dimmed mine 

But from that grave thy voice will ever Beem 

In words of courage and of hope to rise. 

Sad memories of the past, I lay them by, 

A happier day, I trust, is dawning now. 

From dust and ashes of the past 

Spring verdant flowers to crown my brow. 

Hope springs anew, the corn of wheal 
That perished In the soil of pain, 
Springs with a harvest rich and free, 
To life, and light, and hope again. 

109 



They are not there, their bodies lie 
Mouldering beneath the common soil. 
We love to think of them as free 
From sin, from sorrow, and from toil, 

Somewhere in God's great universe 
They rise a fuller life to live, 
We follow on to know the joys 
Which clearer light alone can give. 
I left the acre of the dead, 
I trod again the dusty road, 
I saw the sea of human life 
Struggling beneath its common load. 

I felt again the pulsing thrill, 
I almost seemed to hear the cry 
By human lips sent up from earth 
To those fair altitudes on high. 
In sordid ashes, common dust, 
Life's trivial round and weary lot, 
God hides his seeds of holy corn, 
And not one grain is e'er forgot. 

From those dark heaps of sinful dust 

Our God a harvest rich shall raise, 

And lips that curse, or know Him not, 

In far-off years shall sing His praise. 

As sinks the evening sun to-night 

To rise upon another land, 

As autumn's fading leaves rebloom, 

And flowers spring forth at His command. 

So think ye, will He give consent, 
For threescore years of earthly woe, 
A human soul throughout all time 
Eternal punishment to know? 
Ever He works, by day and night, 
Unresting, merciful, untired, 
Justice is but His mercy's plan, 
The grindstone by the steel required. 

110 



Thou great refining fire of Love, 
All in Thy time shalt bow to Thee, 
Men know Thee not, nor feel Thy power 
Drawing the nations unto Thee. 
Great Spirit, help me so to live, 
That I may aid the glorious dawn 
That breaks upon immortal hope, 
When all the worlds shall be Thine own! 

It is absolutely true that a sect with a hell of fire and 
brimstone, and with a mythical God and Devil in their 
code of doctrine, may be instrumental in diffusing more 
genuine happiness among mortals than a tight-fisted, pe- 
nurious Liberal over yonder who with a creed that bears 
the insignia of truth and the impress of angels, is always 
looking for a test, but never looks for one whose earthly 
burden he can lighten — by far, we had rather be General 
Booth, with his false creed and superstitious notions, who 
"won from the depths" 1,000 drunkards, than one with 
a creed absolutely true, but who never redeemed a human 
soul from the bondage of bad habits or extreme poverty. 

I again repeat that whatever your creed may be, if yon 
have the right ethical foundation, if you are tolerant of 
the rights of others, if you are kind, charitable, forbear- 
ing, and work for the betterment of all humanity, irre- 
spective of a code of belief, you are then getting in tune 
with vibrations from the sphere of exalted souls, and will 
certainly receive their active aid. 



THE WHITE PLAGUE, VARIOUS KINDS. 



The great modern wars are fights for humanity. The 
old style war brought sorrow, and evil, and death. It waa 
often fought for the interests of an Individual or B dy- 
nasty. The warfare of to-day la carried on for the 
of the millions. Its success will moan bappin* 
perity, and life. 

Ill 



The boldness with which men of science are attacking 
disease is no more notable than the faith they seem to 
have in ultimate triumph. The international gathering at 
Washington in the fourth week of September, 1908, was 
far more important in its world aspects than a peace con- 
gress at London or an arbitration meeting at The Hague. 
The common enemy of the nations is the WHITE 
PLAGUE. It is being studied by the ablest of the world's 
investigators. Already they feel the exultation of victory. 
The program of topics for the congress reveals the lines 
of battle and tells its story of encouragement. The 
AVHITE PLAGIE must go. 

After all, the struggle with tuberculosis is but one of 
the many movements for humanity which manifest them- 
selves on every side. It is the distinguishing characteris- 
tic of the twentieth century. The old policy of helpless- 
ness and despair has been abandoned. Everywhere there 
is hopefulness and cheer. There may be discouragements 
and delays. But few doubt the eventual triumph of sci- 
ence over the ills from which mankind has suffered 
through ignorance or carelessness for ages. So much says 
the Chicago Tribune. 

The White Plague is the demon of diseases in this 
twentieth century, and against which scientists and emi- 
nent physicians have struggled in vain to suppress. Its 
attacks are subtle in getting possession of the vitals, and 
then like a cruel, heartless monster, it holds on like a 
viper. Its fiendish attack, like a withering, blasting 
simoon of the desert, seeks the most vulnerable part of 
the system, and therein securely lodged, like an insatiate 
fiend, it gnaws the very life cords, which quiver in in- 
tense agony, like the dying fawn stabbed to its innermost 
parts by a cruel hunter, and the tears rolling down its 
more than half-human face, come forth pleading for its 
life as tenderly as ever an angel whispered to poor suf- 
fering mortals, pleading for their relief from sin and 
misery. 

Against this White Plague prayers have less weight 
and influence in the economy of the universe than a dew- 
drop has that seemingly thrilled with intense joy in its 
bed woven by a flower, flies heavenward in the sweet 

112 



morning dawn on a ray of light, perhaps wondering why 
that pure white ray has nestled within its seven scintil- 
lating colors that, like fairies, build up in the summer 
shower a magnificent rainbow athwart the sky. 

All the Gods in the universe— real or imaginary — have 
had suffering mortals bowed in sorrow before them, 
pleading with an earnestness thai only quivering, torn, 
deeply lacerated hearts can express in the hour of be- 
reavement, when life itself is gradually vanishing in one 
long drawn sigh of distress, yet their prayers echoed back 
to them, No help! Xo help!! 

Alas! the White Plague has triumphed, is now tri- 
umphing, and will continue to triumph for a time against 
all the Gods, against all the prayers that spring forth like 
sweet tendrils from the souls of puny mortals, and against 
all the efforts of medical scientists with their Berums and 
toxins — nothing can yet check its ravages — a White 
Plague, yet inwardly a Demon of Darkness and Despair, 
it is not yet ready to release its grasp of the quivering 
flesh of suffering mortals, though we believe it will be 
compelled to yield to science at no distant day. 

But the White Plague is kaleidoscopic in its character, 
and not confined to tuberculosis, commonly known as con- 
sumption. It is the synonym of cruelty, agony, despair! 
Yonder House of Sin where young girls, not out of their 
teens, and ruined and sent hell ward, is another kind of 
White Plague vibrating with Satanic Bmiles, and a laugh 
that is sepulchral in its tone, and soims that thrill with 
an amorous vibration, and emits a poison worse than thai 
possessed by the cobra, and which finally sends its vic- 
tims into darkness of despair. 

Every large city has this kind of White Plagu 
coarse groans of deep anguish and despair are as natural 
a product as is yonder garden of Bowers, only tie former 
is Satanic and the latter angelic; i'"i even One i^ natural 
from the lowest viper up to the highest angel; th< 
both products of natural law working in divers,, direc- 
tions. 

The breeze that brings contagion and death is as natural 
as the breeze that comes bearing the stent of 

l 1:: 



soms and flowers on its bosom, and imparting health-giv- 
ing properties to all. 

The lightning's flash that kills an innocent young girl 
playing on the green, works in accordance with natural 
law just as much as the tree does when developing buds, 
leaves, blossoms and luscious fruit. The contrariwise ac- 
tion of nature in evolving prominent contradictions in 
the universe, has been a puzzle to philosophers all along 
the ages, and will continue to be for all time to come. 
A little over fifty years ago I was domiciled in a log 
cabin near the Platte River, in Missouri, several miles 
above a small town then known as Parkville, situated 
about five miles above Kansas City. At that time I was 
a country teacher, with education barely sufficient to teach 
a common country school. There was a family in the 
neighborhood by the name of James Bisbee. The father 
was illiterate, yet blessed with an unusual amount of 
common sense. The mother was an unusually intelligent 
lady, and the two boys educated solely by her were very 
bright. Mrs. Bisbee had what the doctors then called the 
consumption, but now known as the White Plague. Thin 
in flesh, her body frail, the hectic flush on her cheek, and 
her terrible cough were harbingers of a gradual approach- 
ing death. Even when thus afflicted she was a veritable 
angel, so patient, so self-reliant, so cheerful, shedding a 
divine radiance around her, and calmly awaiting the 
end, while the family clung to her with a tenderness 
that was sublime, an undertone of pathos pervading the 
very words the boys and father spoke to her, so lovely, 
so endearing, so vibrating with affection, so cheerful in 
sadness, that even there in the home circle one had a fore- 
taste of heaven. 

Mrs. Bisbee, gradually dying, her life slowly vanishing 
like the autumn leaves and flowers, or like the trill of 
some songster of the air in the morning dawn, was truly 
angelic. She belonged to no church, yet she had in her 
home morning and evening prayers, the sweet incense of 
a soul bubbling over with qualities that would be an 
ornament in the nature of an angel. As a guest at the 
home we often heard them, so pathetic, so full of tears, 
so vibrant with emotions of divine love, the words fell 

114 



upon us like a baptismal shower. We never heard her 
in prayer that our eyes were not moistened with tears. 
She would not at once rise from her knees when she 
concluded her prayers, but would say, "Listen! I hear 
a heavenly choir singing anthems of praise. The music 
vibrates in my soul with with such divine sweetness that 1 
feel a spiritual exaltation, and seem to be in heaven itself. 
I seem to be reposing in a downy bed of pulsating vibra- 
tions and musical emotions, and for a time I seem to live 
in a fairy land." 

I was as near to heaven, to the angels, to ministering 
spirits in that home, where every thought seemed to be 
a blossom of rare fragrance, as I ever expect to be. After 
the evening prayer, Mrs. Bisbee seemed to be more angelic 
than ever. She would sit in her chair, and for a short 
time would listen to music heard by her and the youngest 
son only. 

Thus it was that this woman, though gradually dying 
with the White Plague, had a real foretaste of heaven. 

Gradually she wasted away, the family prayer circle, 
baptized with a mother's divine love, was no longer 
brought into requisition. She was confined to her bed, 
and there listened to the voice of the angels, which at 
times appeared to influence her, the vibrations of which 
seemed to form a halo of light, wisps of clouds woven 
into sentences which she would read, conveying a hop - 
ful message of love, or words of cheer — this from the 
angels! Spirit return was to her unknown, and i 
thought of. "God had sent his angels to her" — th;" 
her only thought. This homo was divine: this mother SO 
Angel; the two boys, jewels of her own Bettings; the father 
as full o* good cheer as the blossom is of Incense, all 
constituting a center of attraction for the wise Bag 
the realm of souls. 

But the mother wasted away— died by Inches, Barly 
one evening she asked to be carried out to the porch on 
a cot, that she might once more Burvey the river, the 
clambering vines, the flowers, the waving grass, the 
scintillating In the river, and hear the evening 
■ the birds, and sense more full) the exhilarating air aronn 1 
her own home. Then raising her hands toward 

l L5 



she uttered a prayer tremulous and sweet with the emo- 
tions of her soul, invoking the blessing of God upon her 
two sons and their father, and then clasping tenderly 
each in one fond embrace, and bidding them an affection- 
ate farewell, her form relaxed, the features became radiant, 
and then she passed into a slumber from which she was 
awakened in spirit life. 

Thus it is that even the White Plague may be attended 
by exalted spirit phenomena, and earthly scenes presented 
surpassing in loveliness the dreams of poet or seer. 

But there are many kinds of White Plagues, among 
them envy, slander, avariciousness, uncharitableness, li- 
centiousness, unkindness to the poor, struggling mortals 
— if you possess any of them, you cannot die as Mrs. 
Bisbee did; the angels will not surround you in your 
last moments, and you will pass to the spirit realms with 
a White Plague staining your soul. 



CULTIVATE BUBBLES Of KINDNESS. 



i. 

Is there a single human being in whom a Bubble of 
Kindness never existed? If so, then that person is totally 
depraved. An incident that occurred during the late re- 
bellion illustrates our position. One day a Union prisoner, 
near Richmond, Va., whose features were rendered di- 
vinely radiant with thoughts of home, wife and children, 
sat upon a stone with his hands clasped and eyes turned 
heavenward as if in search for a ray of light that might 
bring fresh joy to his desponding soul. While thus calmly 
meditating a dog limped past him, and acted as if suf- 
fering great pain. A snap of the fingers and a few gentle 
words brought the ungainly brute to his side. Carefully 
examining the animal's lame leg, he found a sharp tack 
had been driven into its foot, causing a painful sore. He 
carefully extracted the same, tenderly dressed the wound, 
and affectionately caressing the ungainly beast, he pleas- 
antly requested it to move along. 

Time passed on. That prisoner dreamed of home; he 
116 



had visions of darling children and devoted wife, and the 
beautiful scenery of his woodland home, and so deep an 
impression did his rambles; in dreamland make upon his 
mind, that he became home-sick, and resolutely resolved 
to escape from the hands of the enemy. A favorabli 
portunity soon offered, and one night he found himself 
outside the lines of the enemies' pickets, carefully pro- 
ceeding northward. After a little while he heard i In- 
dismal, ferocious, heart-rending, and blood-curdling 
of an approaching bloodhound, that was pursuing him. 

Oh! what thoughts surged in that soldier's br< 
Overhead the heavens were bespangled with brilliant stars, 
as if so many pitying eyes gazing upon him! For just 
one moment, utterly bewildered, he kneels in prayer. It 
was brief, pathetic, and tremulous with tender emotion, 
as if the Angel of Pity had cast over him a mantle of 
protection, to shield him from impending danger. Ris- 
ing from his knees, he breaks a club from the overhang- 
ing branches of a tree, to defend himself from the merci- 
less jaws of the pursuing animal. Thoughts, radiant 
with affection — thoughts of home, wife and children — rise 
within his mind in rapid succession, and the Death \ 
seems to stare him in the face. Oh! what a cruel 
— to die now, lacerated by the ferocious beast mercil 
pursuing him — the thought was too horrible to contem- 
plate! To climb a tree, capture would be certain, and his 
return inevitable. Tears flowed down his cheeks — i 
to baptize the tender memories of wife and hon 
resolves to meet the impending danger like a man! The 
fierce baying of the hound approaches like a death-knell, 
and vanishes in hellish echoes among the distant hills' 
All at once, with a single bound, the ferocious mot 
with jaws distended and glarin him, 

ready to tear him into shreds. There is a momentary 
silence, however. The dog ceases its furious yells, 
gazes pleasantly and affectionately at the prlsoi 
then approaches him and receives a pleasant word and a 
kind caress from his former benefactor. 



II. 
Oh! that was the that tin- prisoner had our.- 

1 17 



relieved, aiiu now with a Bubble of Kindness within its 
brute nature, it turned into a kind deliverer. As if sud- 
denly inspired by an angel, as if grandly illuminated with 
a message from heaven, that dog suddenly started away, 
and commencing to yell furiously, it led the rebel pursuers 
away from the prisoner, and after it had accomplished that 
feat, returned quietly to him, and never forsook him, 
remaining with him until he was unfortunately recap- 
tured, and taken back to Richmond. Never after that 
memorable occasion would that bloodhound pursue a Un- 
ion prisoner. 

If a Bubble of Kindness in a fierce dog is there a human 
being living less divine, less noble, less generous, less in- 
clined to do good on certain occasions than such a brute? 

At one time near Dayton, Nev., the body of John Suit- 
ine, a Swiss, was found. He had evidently been dead 
some time, and a part of his face had been eaten by 
coyotes. The attention of a passing Chinaman was at- 
tracted to the place where he was lying by the barking 
of a small dog that belonged to the dead man. The 
little fellow had kept sentinel over his dead master, and 
had endeavored to call the attention of passers by, as was 
remembered by several who passed and thought noth- 
ing of the dog's barking. Suitine left Dayton with a 
heavy load, and it i? supposed that he sank down from ex- 
haustion and died. 

In that dog, too, there was a divine Bubble of Kind- 
ness, a spark of infinite love, that made its brute natur.e 
appear angelic. 



IV. 
Some one has aid that Ole Bull's exquisite music on 
the violin awoke the deepest depths of his being, and 
every nerve seemed to vibrate to the drawing of his bow. 
His heart, his soul, was filled and satisfied. He felt a 
great gush of love welling within for God and his fellow 
men, and when the last note died away he was marvelously 
happy. Every good desire seemed to have been stirred 
by such divine music. But Bubbles of Kindness are even 
more potent when they manifest themselves toward those 
in deep distress. 

118 



It was a divine Bubble of Kindness that induced a poor 
German father, who had nine dependent children, to say: 
"Sir, if death were to come into that door, waiting to 
take one of my nine children, I would say," and here he 
pulled off his velvet cap and hurled it at the door, "Ras- 
cal, who cheated you into thinking I had one too many!" 

A generous-hearted smile; a kind recognition; a cor- 
dial shake of the hand, and timely assistance in the hour 
of need, are merely the white-crested surface of Bubbles 
of Kindness, developing into timely fruit. Bubbles of 
Kindness are merely angelic thoughts seeking expression 
in earthly hearts. They bear upon their surface all that 
is grand, beautiful and sublime; they are the source from 
which lofty aspirations spring, and without them there 
would not be a vestige of heaven on earth. 

Bubbles of Kindness ofttimes have a sad but tender ex- 
pression. On one occasion a miner was about to enter a 
tunnel to secure a shovel, which he desired to take with 
him, when his wife said: "Never mind, I will got it; 
you take the child." As she started for the entrance of 
the tunnel she turned and said: "Kiss me first." Her 
husband did so and she started for the tunnel's mouth 
again, but just before she reached it she again turned 
around and laughingly said, "Kiss me once more." Her 
husband complied for tbe second time, and then she 
started for the tunnel. She had just reached the entrance 
when the mass of rocks and dirt above gave way. bui 
the unfortunate woman in the debris and causing her 
instant death. The father and child escaped unhurt 

Bubbles of Kindness inspired those sweet kisses, and 
their benign influence will linger on the lips of that miner 
throughout his journey of life, and he will ev<r n mem- 
ber, "Kiss me once more!" Bubbles of Kindness would 
rise continually within the human heart. If not cruellj 
suppressed. A dear little girl once saved a bank from 
being pillaged. The robber had not the heart to frighten 
or injure the sweet little maiden, who looked at him with 
a tender smile beaming on her innocent R and 

who was present with her father behind the 
presence begat Bubbles of Kindness In b 
ter. Among the poor. Bubbles of Kindness generally find 
their grandest and most divine expression. There ll more 

119 



of the manifestation of God, seemingly, among them than 
among the wealthy. The self-sacrificing mother who 
starves herself that her children's hunger may be satisfied; 
who works like a slave to sustain them, within her soul 
are Bubbles of Kindness that shine forth more beautifully 
in the eyes of angels than the wealth of a Vanderbilt or 
a Gould. In thousands of different ways do these Bub- 
bles of Kindness manifest themselves. On one occasion 
in New York City, it is said, that on Sixty-ninth street, 
just east of Third avenue, about fifty laborers were en- 
gaged in constructing a row of flats. At noon the men 
stopped work and all but one stout and bronzed young- 
fellow brought out their dinner cans. Hurrying down A he 
street came a young woman, pale, but good-looking, with 
a calico dress and a spotless but ragged shawl. She car- 
ried a dinner can in one hand and held with the other the 
plump and confiding fist of a little girl about three years 
old. The child talked and prattled away, and catching a 
glimpse of her father among the laborers drew the 
mother's attention to him by her laughter and delight. 
The laborers heard the little blue-hooded child and 
dropped their dinners. The one nearest to her took her 
in his arms and after some kissing and caressing she was 
passed from one to the other. It took the mother and 
little girl over fifteen minutes to reach the stalwart la- 
borer, who proudly watched the fondling of his child. 
As the blue hood and her young mother departed the little 
one was given a cheer, and the rugged toilers resumed 
their work all the better for their brief contact with the 
mirth and innocence of childhood. In the Home Circle 
Fraternity Bubbles of Kindness are always present, and 
they manifest that sacred, soul-elevating character in a 
thousand different ways, in trying to alleviate the mis- 
fortunes of others, and making them happy. 

120 



ILLUMINATE YOUR OWN SOUL 



Every individual who has arrived at mature years, un- 
less practically a degenerate, knows right from wrong. 
If he knows the right, and practices it in his daily 1. 
course with mortals, socially and in a business way, tie 
then has a LIGHT within his own soul, beautifully 
iridescent with divine qualities, and which illuminates his 
pathway in earth life, and broadens and brightens bis 
itual atmosphere when his earth career shall have been 
ended. If wholly destitute of that wonderfully potenl 
light on earth, he will find himself in darkness wheo be 
passes to spirit life. That light, in order to assui. 
certain degree of brilliancy, must be carefully cultivated, 
must be tenderly nursed, and so guarded against degrad- 
ing influences, that no dark taints mar its divine quail 

If you possess any light in the spirit realms, in the land 
of souls, you must carry it with yon when the great 
change occurs that you call "death." Your conduct in life 
delicately measures the light you possess, its degree <>r 
radiance, whether clear as the crystal or tainted with 
impurities, or tremulous with the waves of depraved ..mo- 
tions. What kind of a light does Hairy Kendall Thaw haw 
who shot Stanford White? What kind of a light has 
Evelyn Nesbit Thaw? And what think you of the light the 
murdered man possesses? Every pure thought nom 
one's light. Every philanthropic emotion renders its vibra- 
tions more divine. Every charitable art increases its 
volume, and renders it more brilliant. 

It is no illusion, no dream, no fairy tale, the Btatei 
that you carry THE LIGHT of your soul with you. No 
one but, yourself is responsible for that light, if you 
are covetous, if you allow depraved tho like 

so many serpents in your mind; if you are 6nvi0U 
consort with the low and vile, then your light dimin: 
in potency, and in time ma altogether, leaving you 

in spiritual darkness* a ud Btranded In a desert pi 

in spirit life, darkm not convej the Idea that 

121 



the sun's rays are absent, or that the moon is in an eclipse, 
or that the twinkling stars are obscured by clouds, or that 
the gas or electric lights are out, but it illustrates the 
condition of your own soul, if you are enveloped in that 
darkness, to a greater or less extent. The degenerate, 
the absolutely depraved, the Black Hand assassin and the 
conscienceless murderer are destitute of soul-light to a 
great extent, hence find themselves in a certain degree 
of darkness in spirit life, while the advanced and pure 
spirits who stand by their sides trying to impress them, 
can see with perfect clearness. Thus it is that two spirits 
may be near each other, and one be in almost total dark- 
ness while the other will see things clearly around him. 

In the material world light is derived from material 
means and methods, but spiritually not so. An orthodox 
church member, bubbling over with generous thoughts and 
impulses and engaged in philanthropic work, carries in 
his soul a brighter light and a grander illumination 
than the tight-fisted, money-loving Spiritualist, who never 
did a charitable act- This soul light is not the outgrowth 
of a creed, of worship, or belief. An atheist may possess 
this soul light in a marked degree; it may have the 
grandest qualities in the soul of one opposed to Spirit- 
ualism. It may even have a lovely glow in the spirit 
of a Salvation Army girl, while it is gloomy and forbidding 
in the soul of some of those who expound the nature of 
God's Providence from the liberal pulpit. In fact, this 
light may be brilliant in the soul of a scrub-woman, work- 
ing at menial labor, while it is exceedingly dim in the 
nature of an influential multi-millionaire. A man who 
never kneeled in prayer, who regards the Bible as a myth 
and who rejects all creeds, and does not even believe 
in Spiritualism, but just believes in doing good, may 
have a wonderfully beautiful angelic light in his soul, 
while in the hypocritical saint, the light only burns dimly. 
Many young men are gradually putting out the divine 
light within them. There was Chas. Lambert; he went 
before the mayor of an Eastern city and said: 

"See, I have just fifteen cents — one dime and a nickel. 
Saturday night my room rent is due. I haven't a friend 
in the city, sir, and I want work — work of any kind, sir. 

122 



Washing dishes would do, for I haven't eaten a substantial 
meal in a week." 

The plea was the usual one; the speaker was not — a 
rara avis among the species. A tall, gentlemanly young 
man, smooth shaven, fancy waistcoat of the latest pattern, 
neat clothing of the most fashionable cloth, a handsome 
tie — everything betokening a man on the high road to 
prosperity rather than one on the path to starvation. 

"Lambert is my name, sir; Charles E. Gilcoursie- 
Lambert, Oxford graduate, lieutenant in her maj< 
service during the Boer war, cousin of the Earl of Cavan, 
and — but we'll let that pass. I'm not looking for charity; 
what I wish is work. I'm not out to fleece any one; get 
me a place washing dishes and I'll thank you most sin- 
cerely, sir." 

He told the mayor that he was best man at the Duke 
of Manchester's wedding. Then he had $35,000, but 
horses, wine, and women dissipated fortune, after which 
his people turned him off. 

Thus gradually the light within his soul has been 
growing dimmer, and unless he "mends" his way, he will 
land in darkness on the spirit side of life. 

As the daily papers said, one Betsy Jenks was found 
dead in a back alley. She had lately been released from 
jail, the worst looking specimen of humanity the police 
had ever gazed upon. There were putrid Bores on her 
neck and face, as bad in appearance as any food a i 
vulture had ever eat. Her hair was disheveled, bei 
ghastly, swollen, while thereon one could clearly dlf 
an expression as if overshadowed with concentrated 
Satanic hate. By her side was a whisky bottle drained of 
its contents. A dead horse, cow. or le^. putrefying i" 
the sun, could not have been more repulsive. The 
from Miss Jenks' body was as poisonous ;is the mlasmic 
vapors of a disease-breeding swam]), or rotten • 
There lay the ultimate of incestuous disease, of rl 
living in the under world of "pleasure," Of carnal thoughts 
that stung her soul like vipers, of ace exhai 

in the dens of vice, her whole life 1>< inu in realitj a 
cancerous growth of huge dimensions without a - 

light of radiation. She had no light beaming in ber soul: 

123 



with her there was nothing but hideous darkness, a 
cheerless desert waste, not a single vibration in her soul 
that indicated a desire for reformation. She had lived 
in the darkness of sin, and passed to the realms of souls 
a dwarfed spirit, in darkness, in solitude. Near the corpse 
was her spirit unseen by policeman or mortals, and more 
repulsive if possible than her mortal body. She has died 
thoroughly rotten with disease, with thoughts and desires 
so un»lean that there, apparently, was no light in her 
soul; she died a degenerate. 

Thus it is, if you wish to advance spiritually, you must 
carefully cultivate THE LIGHT within the soul, until it 
beams forth clear and bright, in harmony with that 
LIGHT in some one of the higher spheres, and that 
LIGHT can only be nourished, sustained and enlarged, 
by BEING GOOD and DOING GOOD, thus enabling you 
to get in tune with vibrations from the spheres of exalted 
spirits. 



SHE WAS BEAUTIPUL IN SPIRIT LIPE, 



i. 

That all humanity emanated from one common source, 
whether that source be Nature, Principle, Law, or a being 
designated as Infinity or God, no one has any reason to 
doubt. That all are linked together in one common bond, 
designated as humanity, is recognized everywhere; that 
the right to live is as sacred to the peasant as to the 
king; as important to the ignoramus as the sage, and 
that "right" involves certain responsibilities. Health is 
attained by living in accordance with nature's laws. The 
thief, the highwayman, the murderer, the wife-beater and 
the liar, all can gain that important desideratum by fol- 
lowing the methods that lead to it, and be free from 
pain and loathsome diseases. This is a characteristic of 
natural law as connected with the physical organization. 
To maintain good health, no religion, no adoration of 
any particular deity — Brahm, Vishnu, Osiris, Jupiter, 

124 



Jesus, Jove or God — is necessary. It is maintained by 
living simply in harmony with Nature's laws, without 
respect to any religion whatever. There is. however, A 
SPIRITUAL LAW, broad and comprehensive in its nature, 
which is intimately connected with the soul, and which 
shapes its future destiny. The one who lives exclusively 
for self, whose whole aim is self-aggrandizement, ami 
who takes no active interest in the welfare of others, 
has an equally narrow field assigned him in the spiritual 
realms. The selfish cultivate no heaven within them; the 
uncharitable cannot, while that feeling predominates, be- 
hold the transcendent beauties of the celestial regions. 
to the unforgiving, only the lower spheres of spirit life 
are open for their reception; to the egotist, the bigoted, 
the supercilious, the haughty and proud, nothing responds 
that is beautiful and elevating in characteristics. 

Being a Spiritualist does not indicate that your spirit- 
ual nature is refined. Knowing that spirit friends can 
commune with you is no passport to their present- in 
spirit life. Proclaiming the truths of intercommunion 
between the two worlds, will not aid you in the 1 
unless you refine your spiritual nature. 



ir. 

Off in Missouri, in early times, we knew an old colt 
woman. She was ignorant; she could not read, and her 
only treasure consisted in a magnanimous heart and 
generous impulses. Her presence was ;i benediction; 
her voice mild, sweet and gentle; and 1km- only aspiration 
to do good. Aunt Chloe, as she was called, was regarded 
with reverential awe by the whites as well as the colored. 
She was blessed with a Btrange, weird knowledge <>t" the 
efficacy of herbs, which ahe said c.*M gave h< r. Shi 
herself a healing balm; he! touch even on the brow <>f 
the fevered patient would dispel the die 3he could, 

it was said, see God (it was a spirit), hear b 
receive his kindly admonitions and advice, and learn how 
the sick should be treated, sin- had a large segmi 
heaven in her nature, and it bloomed there with tl 
cendent beauties; a golden thread from the supernal 
regions entwined her generous Impulses; hi r bouI chords 

L26 



vibrated with a spirit as kindly, as noble, as possessed 
by any earthly sage, or philanthropist. She passed along 
in life, her grandeur of soul and philanthropic impulses 
acknowledged by all. Her mission was not altogether 
among the poor, but the wealthy sought her as a nurse. 
She had been a slave, and at times badly treated by a 
cruel and relentless master. After the war of the rebel- 
lion, she left him, and for a time he ignored her alto- 
gether. 



III. 

Finally, Aunt Chloe's old master was taken sick, given 
up by the physician to die, and she was sent for to nurse 
him in his last moments. Did she go? Yes, she did, for 
her God told her to go, and laden with angelic impulses, 
star-crowned, and with a retinue of benign spirits, she 
retraced her steps to the old plantation. It was evening 
when she went. The sun had just set and the rainbow- 
tinted clouds in the west and the balmy air of summer 
time and the aroma of flower, garden and fields, seemed 
to be intensified a hundred fold as this dark-hued Savior 
passed along toward the home of her former bad master. 
In her mind, however, she did not even chide or blame 
him; her God standing by her side enveloped her with 
the grandeur of his own soul, and she walked as if in a 
cloud of hazy light. She entered the sick chamber. The 
windows were open and the sweet scent of flowers and 
fragrant vines pervaded the room like an incense from 
heaven. Raising her hand heavenward she said: 

"Lor' me, Marsa James, you ain't going to die! God 
says so." 

Her face seemed to be illuminated and her eyes to 
shine with dazzling brightness, and her actions like one 
having authority, and the attendants gazed at her with 
superstitious awe. She cast the medicine one side; com- 
pelled the attendants to go to an adjoining room, and 
then kneeled in prayer by the side of her former cruel 
master. She placed her hand upon his head, and in 
tones pathetically sweet, and tremulous with melody of 
heaven, she prayed not only for his restoration to health, 
but that his acts might in the future be more kind and 

126 



gentle, and his presence a benediction to all. The prayer 
was crude in language, but as pure in essence as the 
flowers that bloom in paradise and as earnest as any 
ever uttered by the Nazarene. The man apparently dying 
seemed to rally, and whispered, "Auntie, I have been 
cruel to you. Will you forgive me?" 

"Lor' yes, Marsa James, Ize forgive you." 
"Auntie, cure me, and 1 will be as good in the future 
as I have been bad in the past." 

"Stop talking, Marsa James, and go to sleep. The 
Lawd sez you shall get well." 



IV. 
What a grand scene. Heaven interblending and over- 
coming hell! An ignorant old woman once a slave, for- 
getting all wrongs, banishing all hates, subduing all bitter 
feelings, standing by the side of her sick master nigh 
unto death, and with a halo of spiritual light beaming 
with all the beauties of heaven enveloping her — what a 
grand scene! With her hand gently laid upon the sick 
man's head she soon had him asleep, and then sitting 
there, he was charged with her healing magnetism; he 
was bathed with the divine essence that emanated from 
her soul as naturally as the aroma from a flower. 

The morning was ushered in, not only with anthems 
of birds and chirping of insects, but there was rejoicing 
in that family circle, when the patient awakened, 
lieved of pain, the fever gone, and feeling apparently 
well. The daughters threw their arms around the 
slave and wept with joy. The wife and mother raising 
her hands towards heaven, thanked God that Aunt Chloe 
lived to save her husband. Special provisions wi 
for her during her earthly pilgrimage. A fine cabin 
refurnished for her special use; and orders giYOD that 
during her earth life, her larder should be supplied en- 
tirely to her liking. Her master, once chai I tot 
his cruelty, had seen through tin- DOOR <>l hi: Mil into 
the celestial regions, and now stood forth '"■ bal- 
ing only in the currency of the spiritual realms. 

127 



V. 
The Translated. 

Finally Aunt Chloe's mission was ended. The sum- 
mons at last came to her. No death was ever grander, of 
philosopher, sage, king, queen or statesman. It was 
morning when the final summons came. The azure east 
seemed as if illuminated with brighter colors, the aroma 
of flowers sweeter, and the air purer, as the family sur- 
rounded her bed and listened to her words of wisdom. 
She saw the angels around her bed and conveyed mes- 
sages to each one, and told them of the beauty and 
grandeur of the spiritual realms, and exhorted each one 
to be good and do good. Her advent into spirit life was a 
pageant more grand than ever attended any earthly sov- 
ereign. She was spiritually wealthy. Her soul was beam- 
ing with charity and love. 

Thus it often is that the humblest of God's children 
are selected for some noble work. And we say to you that 
without charity, without gentleness and kindness of spirit, 
without aiding to lift the burdens of others, and without 
doing something of importance for the general good, you 
have no currency of the bright spheres of spirit life 
There are thousands of Spiritualists who cannot approach 
the sphere of light where Aunty Chloe now lives, until 
they shall have cultivated a spirit in harmony with hers 
— being good and doing good. 

128 



TME f LOWER IN TME SINOW. 



i. 

So eager are the departments of nature to perform 
their allotted tasks that in the Swiss mountains and in 
the far north, delicate little flowers are seen blossoming 
on the edge of a drift of snow. The plant seems to 
say: "I was ordered to be here by the middle of June. 
the birds and the travelers expect me; it is a cold day, 
but I am here." It is a peculiar, half-sad pleasure to 
come upon these shivering, delicate forms of painted leaf 
One feels as though the wind should fall for their B8 
and for them the sun shoot hotter rays around the moun- 
tains. 

In the awful snow-storm and frost-storm of Dakota 
recently there fell a singular and rather beautiful form 
of human character — a field-hand, educated but un- 
known, tender as a refined woman, but Btrong and bold 
as a soldier. In the cold embrace of Ice and snow, with 
all the indications around him of an effort to reach home 
— the home of a hired man — his lifeless body recalled 
the pathos of the lines: 

"Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, 
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown." 

The farmer in whose employ the man was passing the 
winter knew only the aame which the toiler had given 
him when he sought and found the much-needed employ- 
ment, bub in the months which passed between the August 
harvest and the terrific cyclone of Ice the man > 
sent nor received a letter. To him, no Institution ol 
our country was of less value than the postal department 
The name of John Crosby stood for this personage, bul 
no one knows whether that same was baptismal, or 
picked up along the way by himself, or bj some other, 
for the concealment of ■ tact, father than for establish- 
ing a family connection 

General Custer once said, in a chat regardlfl 
less soldiers, that be had in his army men who 

1 L ( :» 



no relations to the world; men who knew nothing of 
their first home or birth-place, nor how many years they 
had been in this life. He had read the burial service 
over one regarding whose death he could not send 
word to any person or any village in any country. 

Among these lonely mortals was this John Crosby. He 
was not more than 21 years of age. Nature keeps a 
record of all the early years, and tells whether this or 
that face is 15 or 2 0. Nature follows the child and says 
plainly, this human soul has gotten 4 or 70 or 16 or 20 
years away from the cradle, but at last this great mother 
ceases to paint the days and seasons on the face, and 
often 60 wears the image of 50 or 70, and the real dis- 
tance from the mother's bosom is lost, never to be guessed 
again. John Crosby was about 20 years old when his 
heart turned into ice and ceased from its memories and 
longings. 

He had presented himself at a certain school district 
in Dakota, to secure, if possible, a place as schoolmas- 
ter. The office had just been assigned to another. It was 
found that all such thrones had secured royal occupants, 
and that there was before this youth the prospect of an 
idle winter. He therefore applied at a farm-house for 
a place as a common farm hand, and was accepted by 
rather a superior plowman by the name of Eastman. The 
new workman proved to be worthy of his wages and his 
home. He seemed to live for his daily tasks and for the 
idle moments which the winter evenings and winter Sun- 
days brought. 

On that morning in January after that awful death- 
chill had passed by, this youth was found dead in the 
field. His face wore the impression of peace, and seemed 
to say, "This is the end." Good, simple, almost tearful 
funeral rites were given the body, but as for the tender 
soul, it was far away, in that land: 

Where storms do never come. 

When the family explored the vacant room of their 
toiler with the hope of finding some name or town that 
might direct them whither to send news of the death, 
they found nothing except scraps of poetic thought writ- 
ten upon every piece of paper available in the scanty 

130 



house. All the blank leaves of the stranger's books were 
made to carry the young heart's reflections, as they came 
to him in the evenings and Sundays of a Dakota winter. 

In many of these verses the form of his mother flgui 
thus showing the purity of a heart which can from the 
stormy passions of early manhood sing more kind words 
to absent mother than it can indite to some belle of the 
ball-room, or to some invisible idol of the romantic senti- 
ment: 

"The mother's love stands pilot e'er to guide 
And keeps life's boat from sinking in the waves, 
It guards from many an ill, from many an evil saves. 

"Such was the blessing of my glad, first years, 
Remembered now it rules my errant will 
When life is bittered with its grief-wrung tears 
Calm grows my spirit as she cries: 'Be still.' 
Recalls the purpose I must yet fulfill, 
Propels me onward with a specter hand, 
Invisible but mighty, in its power grand." 

In all the hundreds of lines found in this vacated room. 
the genius of the poem is Memory. Though only a boy, 
he was always looking back, as though the past had been 
too sorrowful to permit even the enthusiasm of youth 
to turn toward the future. His home was: 

"Back upon the forest's very ledge. 

Set in the woods and garlanded with vine 
Above the other homes, built on the leage, 

There stood the old stone cottage that was mine." 

This poem is no doubt a continuous composition — a 
memory, but as the stanzas are not cumbered, the ; 
come to us in all that disorder which mark 
of prophecy which the wind took from the hands of the 
sibyl. 

Over all these penciled verses, oyer the name of 
man who was able to teach a Bchool or to work- 

er on a farm, over the youth who n< 

a letter, who did his daily work in a manner skillful and 
conscientious, over a heart which was full of high and 

131 



pure thoughts, and which was as rich in language as in 
virtue, that Dakota storm came and spread that mystery 
which a tragic death always completes. Perhaps death 
came in the form of mercy; for no doubt the mother 
had gone from earth, and the stone cottage in the edge 
of the forest had opened its doors at last to send its 
motherless children into perpetual exile. 

The above narrative is from the pen of Rev. David 
Swing, the great Divine, just before his death many years 
ago. 



II. 
Here was a member of the Home Circle Fraternity, 
John Crosby, who assumed the responsibility of life with- 
out a murmur, and from whose lips an unkind word was 
probably never uttered. He had made many investments 
in the Celestial City, the home of angels, and was greet- 
ed there with songs of welcome. Ah! you cross, crabbed, 
fretful, sefish mortal — whoever you are — who never tries 
to make others hap'py, you will see that the patient, cheer- 
ful toiler, John Crosby, meets with appreciation in the 
City Celestial, while you will be compelled to reform 
your perverse nature before you advance. It has been well 
said that "A single bitter word may disquiet an entire 
family for a whole day. One surly glance casts a gloom 
over the household, while a smile of sunshine may light 
up the darkest and weariest hours. Like unexpected 
flowers which spring up along our path, full of fresh- 
ness, fragrance and beauty, so kind words and gentle 
acts and sweet dispositions make glad the sacred spot 
called home. No matter how humble the abode, if it 
be sweetened with kindness and smiles, the heart will 
turn longingly toward it from all the tumult of the world, 
and home, if it be ever so homely, will be the dearest 
spot beneath the circuit of the sun." 



III. 
Angelic Impulses. 

Five men, all prominent in financial circles, were clus- 
tered about a table in the gentlemen's dining-room on 
the second floor of a restaurant, as related by the Phil- 
adelphia Inquirer, discussing the current gossip of the 

132 



busy world in which they moved. After the more sub- 
stantial portion of the meal had been consumed, and 
the quintet were comfortably Bipping an expensive 
brand of champagne, the conversation turned on 
the various methods of getting the greatest amount 
of pleasure out of the coming holiday season. 
As soon as the subject was broached, one of the 
party became unusually quiet, and took scarcely 
any part in the lively discussion which followed. After 
the other four had offered various plans and suggestions, 
the silent member of the party quietly remarked: "You 
are all wrong, and to prove the truth of my words, 1 
wish to tell you a little incident which happened to me 
Christmas eve two years ago, and of which I have never 
spoken since. While stopping to glance almost uncon- 
sciously at the display in the windows of an Eighth street 
confectionery store, my attention was attracted by two 
children, a boy apparently about eight years old. and B 
girl about ten. They were joyously pointing out all the 
dainties in the windows to each other, and speculating 
upon the amounts of the many good things which could 
be purchased for a quarter. They appeared to be warmly 
dressed, but their clothes were of the plainest and cheap- 
est material, and they were evidently the children of a 
poor workingman, who was able to support his family. 
but to supply them with none of the luxuries of life. 
From their conversation I learned that their father had 
given each of them twenty-five cents to spend for Christ- 
mas, and the great question was what to buy with th • 
money. While the matter was still undeeided. a | 
haggard-looking woman came along, leading a little girl, 
and they both looked as if they had not eaten anything 
for some time. The woman stepped up to another woman. 
richly dressed in furs, and timidly asked for help, but 
her appeal was unheeded, and she was haughtily ord 

to stand aside. As the poor creature slunk away in the 
greatest dejection, I noticed a few hurried whisper 
tween the two children, and they quickly follow.,! tie- 
woman and child, and when they came up with them, 

pressed BOmething into the woman's hand, who WSJ left 
speechless by the sudden good fortune. AS tin- children 

139 



passed me when they returned, I heard the girl say: 
'They'll enjoy it more than we would. We'll be at home 
to-morrow, with mom and pop, and have a good dinner, 
and they'll have nothing.' When I recovered my senses 
both parties were gone, but I'll wager anything that those 
children who gave their all had a happier Christmas than 
I, who was the possessor of thousands, but gave nothing 
towards making others happy." 

The story apparently touched those present, and in 
a short time the table was deserted, with the wine bot- 
tles still partially full. 

In this touching narration we have a beautiful illustra- 
tion of the angelic impulses in two children. It was a 
scene where the terrestrial and celestial blended, where 
squalid misery and a wave of transcendent goodness met, 
In the good time coming, when the religion of the Home 
Circle Fraternity shall have been fully established, every 
prosperous home will have one or more rooms to shelter 
the unfortunate; one or more seats at the table, where 
the hungry -can obtain food; and the thoughts will not 
center around self, but each day, the question will be 
asked, what despondent soul can I render more happy or 
prosperous? Each member of the Home Circle Fra- 
ternity does good, independent of all creeds, and all forms 
of worship. 

134 



OVER THE HILLS FROM A POOR HOUSE 




WHO was always counted, they say, 
Rather a bad stick any way, 
Splintered all over with dodges and 

tricks, 
Known as "The worst of the deacons 

six;" 
I, the truant, saury and bold, 
The one black sheep in my father's 



fold, 



Once on a time, as the stories say, 
Went over the hill on a winter's day — 
Over the hill to the poorhouse. 

Tom could save what twenty could earn; 
But giving was something he never could barn; 
Isaac could half o' the Scriptures speak — 
Committed a hundred verses a week ; 
Never forgot, an' never slipped; 
But honor thy father and mother he skipped; 
So over the hill to the poorhouse. 

As for Susan, her heart was kind, 

An' good — what there was of it, mind; 

Nothin' too big, an' nothin' too nice, 

Nothin' she wouldn't sacrifice 

For one she loved; an' that 'ere one 

Was herself, when all was said an' done. 

An' Charley an' Becca meant well, no doubt. 

But any one could pull 'em about. 

An' all our folks ranked well, yon 

Save one poor fellow, and that waa me; 



An' when, one dark an' rainy night, 
A neighbor's horse wenl out o' Bight, 
They hitched on me as the guilty chap 

135 



That carried one end o' the halter strap; 

An' I think myself, that view of the case 

Wasn't altogether out o' place; 

My mother denied it, as mothers do, 

But I am inclined to believe 'twas true, 

Though for me one thiaig might be said — 

That I, as well as the horse, was led; 

And the worst of whisky spurred me on, 

Or else the deed would have never been done. 

But the keenest grief I ever felt 

Was when my mother beside me knelt, 

An' cried an' prayed, till I melted down, 

As I wouldn't for half the horses in town, 

I kissed her fondly then and there, 

An' swore henceforth to be honest and square. 

I served my sentence — a bitter pill 

Some fellows should take who never will; 

And then I decided to go "out West," 

Concludin' 'twould -suit my health the best; 

Where, how I prospered I never could tell, 

But fortune seemed to like me well, 

An' somehow every vein I struck 

Was always bubblin' over with luck. 

An' better than that, I was steady an' true, 

An' put my good resolutions through, 

But I wrote to a trusty old neighbor, an' said: 

"You tell 'em, old fellow, that I am dead, 

An' died a Christian; 'twill please 'em more 

Than if I had lived the same as before." 

But when this neighbor, he wrote to me: 

"Your mother's in the poorhouse," says he, 

I had a resurrection straightway, 

An' started for her that very day. 

And when I arrived where I was grown 

I took good care that I shouldn't be known, 

But I bought the old cottage, through and through 

Of some one Charley had sold it to. 

And held back neither work or gold, 

To fix it up as it was of old. 

136 



The same big fireplace, wide an' high, 
Flung up its cinders toward the sky; 
The old clock ticked on the corner shelf — 
I wound it an' set it a-going myself; 
An' if everything wasn't just the same 
Neither I nor money was to blame. 

Then over the hills to the poor house. 

One blowin' blusterin' winter's day, 
With a team an' cutter I started away, 
My fiery nags were as black as a coal, 
(They some't resembled the horse I stole,) 
I hitched, an' entered the poorhouse door. 
A poor old woman was scrubbin' the floor. 
She rose to her feet in great surprise, 
And looked, quite startled, in my eyes. 
I saw the whole of her trouble's trace 
In the lines that marred her dear old face; 
"Mother!" I shouted, "your sorrow's don. ! 
You're adopted along o' your horse thief son. 
Come over the hill from the poorhouse." 

She didn't faint; she knelt by my side, 

An' thanked the Lord, till I fairly cried, 

An' maybe our ride wasn't pleasant an' gay, 

An' maybe our cottage wasn't warm an' bright, 

An' maybe it wasn't a pleasant sight 

To see her gettin' the evenin' tea 

An' frequently stoopin' and kissin' me; 

An' maybe we didn't live happy tor years, 

In spite of my brothers' and sisters' sno> 

Who often said, as I have heard, 

That they wouldn't own a prison bird 

(Thoiigh they're gettin' over that, I guess, 

For all of 'em owe me more or 1 

Hut we learned one thing, an' it chet ra a man 
In always a-doin' the best h" can 
That whether OS the Big BOOfc a blol 

Gets over a. fellow's name or not. 
Whenever he dors a ijeecl that's white, 

137 



It's credited to him fair and right, 
An' when you hear the great bugle's notes, 
An' the Lord divides his .sheep an' goats; 
However they may settle my case, 
Wherever they may fix my place, 
My good old Christian mother, you'll see, 
Will be there to stand right up for me, 
Over the hill from the poorhouse. 

— Will Carlton. 

While the above impressive portrayal may be simply 
a poetic license, yet underlying it is an extremely fruit- 
ful lesson. There are poor-houses; there are mothers 
there who have reared a family of children, and then are 
denied a home with them. Occasionally one is taken from 
there by a wayward son, and furnished an exceptionally 
pleasant home. 

Jane Haskins was the name of an old woman living 
in a poor-house in one of the counties near Chicago. 
She had an exceptionally beautiful expression to her 
countenance when talking of her son, who left her home 
When a boy, so many yearsi previous, in Alabama that he 
thought her dead. As she soon after moved away from 
the place where she was living when the son left her home 
to seek his fortune out in the wide, wide world, he 
failed to locate her. In the poor-house, it was her boy 
Jim, her principal thought in her conversation with the 
other inmates. If s'he picked a dainty flower in the field, 
she wisihed that Jim was there that she might ornament 
his person by attaching it to a button-hole of his coat. 
Poetical by nature, a dreamer of dreams, sne always saw 
some fairy outline in the burnished colors of a summer 
sunset, and she would clasp her hand's in an ecstasy of 
delight, exclaiming, "If my boy were here to enjoy this 
painting of nature my happiness would be complete. 
Some dlay I shall meet him in a large city, and he will 
care for me, for I so dreamed." Her lost son was her 
principal thought — a thought imbedded in the aroma of 
love, and which vibrated in her soul so much angelic 
sweetness that all the inmates loved her, but regarded 
her as a harmless lunatic, continually talking of her son 
Jim. In the poor-house she was constantly ministering 

138 



to some one; her presence a ray of sunshine; her touch 
a healing balm; her smile of angelic sweetness. In all 
her acts of kindness in her own feeble way her only 
thought was, "What I do for you, I hope Borne one will 
do for my boy Jim." If giving a dose of medicine to one 
suffering from pain she would invariably say, "I do it 
for you, for my boy Jim may need assistan ■<■, and how 
could I expect it given to him if I did not give it to you?" 
Thus every day brought its duties to her, feebly, but will- 
ingly performed, and as time passed on the inmat 
to notice her peculiarities. 

Old age is beautiful, .sublime, poetic, when t.e- nature 
is sweet, self-sacrificing and unselfish, even if 'dotage" 
has come with its autumnal fringes, and expiring notes 
of a fruitful summer life. The inmates spoke of her in 
bated breath as "the sweet old lady," "the ang< 1 of tie- 
farm," "the Divine Nurse," and there was a revei 
for her equal to that of any Catholic saint. 

Finally one day some one of the inmates read in the 
Chicago Tribune that Jim Haskins was the rider in a 
winning race at Washington Park, and had finally 
amassed a fortune. The news was imparted to the ven- 
erable mother just as she had risen from a prayer, \\ 
in her principal request was that God and the an 
would protect her boy, Jim, and finally bring him back 
to her. "Yes," she said, "that is my boy. In the dream 
I had he was riding a winning horse, and waving a flag 
on which was inscribed the word MOTHER 

Friends assisted the old lady to come to Chicago, and 
she was detected on the streets Inquiring of many : 
ing her, if they knew her boy Jim. A kind-heart, d p<> 
liceman took the matter in hand, had her conveyed to 
the police station, and then commenced looking for her 
boy as set forth in the Tribune. Within a to* 
was located at one of Chicago's leading hotels, and when 
asked if his mother's name was Jan.- Haskin ■. 
he replied, "but I am sure she must be dead, i left 
living in Alabama." 

"Maybe not," replied the policeman An Old I id] ll 
at the station anxiously looking for her SOU, wh( 
she gives as James Haskins " 

"Great, God!" he anxiously said, "is m> mother llv- 
189 



ing? In my wanderings I had lost all track of the 
family." 

Engaging a carriage he and the police officer drove 
rapidly to the station. As they entered the matron's 
room she said: "Hush! Hark!" In an adjoining room 
a tremulous voice was heard in prayer that God would 
bring her boy, Jim to her; a prayer divinely sweet and 
pure. The eyes of those listening were filled with tears 
and their hearts beat with angelic emotions as she con- 
cluded her prayer. The matron opened the door, and 
there standing, with features illuminated with a divine 
light, was the old mother, instantly recognized by her son, 
who tenderly embraced her, showering kisses upon her 
pale cheeks. He furnished her with a home where she 
was blessed with every comfort, and where he visited 
her daily. 

Thus was the venerable mother's dream realized, and 
a new life in her old age opened up before her, she fur- 
nishing an actual "Over the Hill from the Poor-house." 

There is something solemnly sweet in old age when 
accompanied with the grand qualities of Jane Haskins. 
Old age is the vanishing note of life, and as the last 
sound of the expiring note of the singer is the softest 
and sweetest, so is old a,ge, when rounded out like Mrs. 
Haskins's, the most sublime, beautiful and cheering of 
the whole life. So live, we say, that your life in the 
autumn years of your existence, may be sweet and whole- 
some, and your presence one perennial spring of pleas- 
ure to those that surround you. Prepare for old age in 
the spring time of life; cultivate the fruits of life that 
will mature in the autumn of your existence, making you 
a blessing and benediction to all, with vibrations in 
harmony with those in the higher spheres of spirit life. 

140 



OVER THE MILL TO TME POOR-MOUSE 




VER THE hill to the poor-house I'm 

trudging my weary way, 
I, a woman of seventy, and only a trifle 

gray; 
I, who am smart and chipper for all 

the years I've told. 
As many another woman that isn't 

half as old. 



Over the hill to the poor-house — it seems so horrid queer; 
Over the hill to the poor-house — I can't quite make it 

clear; 
Many a step I've taken a-toiling to and fro, 
But this is a sort of journey I never thought to go. 

What is the use of heaping on me a pauper's shame? 
Am I lazy or crazy, am I blind or lame? 
True, I'm not so supple nor yet so awful stout, 
But charity ain't no favor if one can live without. 

I am willing and anxious and ready any day 

To earn a decent living and pay my honest way. 

For I can earn my victuals, and more, too, I'll be bound. 

If anybody only is willing to having me around. 

Once I was young and handsome— -I was, upon my soul; 
Once my cheeks were roses, my eyes were black as coal; 
And I don't remember in those days a-hearing peopli 
For any kind of reason that I was in their * 

'Taint no use of boasting or talking over t v 
But many a house and home was open then to me; 
Many a handsome offer I had from likely DM n. 
And nobody ever hinted that 1 was a burden then. 



And when to John I was married, sure he wai |OOd and 

smart, 

1 1 1 



But he and all the neighbors would own I done my part; 
For life was all before me and I was young and strong, 
And I worked the best that I could in trying to get along. 

And so we worked together, and life was hard but gay, 
With now and then a baby to cheer us on our way, 
Till we had half a dozen, and all growed clean and neat, 
And went to school like others and had enough to eat. 

And so we worked for our children, and raised them 

every one, 
Worked for them, summer and winter, just as we ought 

to have done. 
Only perhaps we humored them, which some good folks 

condemn, 
But every couple's children's a heap the best of them. 

Strange how much we think of our blessed little ones — 
I'd have died for my daughters, I'd have died for my 

sons — 
But God he made the rule of love, but when we're old 

and gray, 
I've noticed it sometimes somehow fails to work the other 

way. 

Strange, another thing, when our boys and girls are 

grown, 
And when, excepting Charlie, they had left me all alone, 
When John he nearer and nearer came and dearer seemed 

to be, 
The Lord of Hosts he came one day and took him away 

from me. 

Still I was bound to struggle on and never cringe or fall, 
Still I worked for Charlie, for Charlie was now my all, 
And Charlie was pretty good to me, with scarce a word 

or frown, 
Till at last he went a-courting and brought a wife from 

town. 

She was somewhat dressy, and hadn't a pleasant smile, 
She was quite conceity and carried a heap of style. 

142 



But if ever I tried to be friends I did with her, 1 know, 
But she was hard and proud and I couldn't make 11 

She had an education, and that was good for her, 

But when she twitted me en mine 'twas carrying things 

too fer, 
And I told her once, 'fore company, and it almost made 

her sick, 
That I never swallowed a grammer or ate a 'rlthmetic. 

So 'twas only a few days before the thing was done — 
They was a family of themselves and I another one; 
And a very little cottage one family will do, 
But I have never seen a house that was big enough for 
two. 

And I never could speak to suit her, never could p 

her eye, 
And it made me independent, and then I didn't try. 
But I was terribly staggered and felt it like a blow, 
When Charlie turned again' me and told me I could go. 

I went to live with Susan, but Susan's house was small. 
And she was always a hinting how snug it was for US all: 
And what with her husband's sisters, and what with 

children three, 
'Twas easy enough to discover there wasn't room enough 

for me. 

And then I went to Thomas, the oldest son I 

For Thomas' buildings cover the half of an acre lot; 

But the children all was on mo and I couldn't stand then- 
sauce, 

And Thomas said T needn't think 1 was coming thei 
boss. 

And then I wrote to Rebecca, my girl who Uvea <>ut \\ 
And to Isaac, not far from her. some twenty miles at l 
And one of thorn said 'twas too warm there for an> 

so old, 
The other one had an opinion the climate was to,. , old. 

So they have shirked and Blighted me and me 

about, 

148 



So they have well-nigh soured me and worn my old heart 

out; 
But still I have borne up pretty well and wasn't much put 

down 
Till Charlie went to the poormaster and put me on the 

town. 

Over the hill to poor-house — my children, dear, good-by — ■ 
Many a night I've watched you when only God was nigh, 
And God will judge between us, but I will always pray 
That you shall never suffer the half I have to-day. 

— Will M. Carlton. 



There is no charm to an aspiring soul in the impress- 
ive word, poor-house. It always has an undertone of 
sadness, an expiring echo in a sepulchre of lost hopes, 
a sort of graveyard where are buried all the sweet and 
cherished memories and anticipations of one's past life, 
and no one in extreme poverty ever thinks of it without 
a shudder of grim despair passing through the system! 
But there may be some things far worse, for aught we 
know, connected with human life than so-called poverty, 
destitution in everything of a worldly nature, with the 
poor-house confronting one in the not far distant future. 
The very sound of that word, however, to the sensitive 
mind) vibrates a painful sensation in the soul, far more 
sad and tearful than that of DEATH, which is considered 
the most mournful word in the English language, a 
word draped in crepe, presaging the coffin, the grave and 
grim destair, and yet from the higher spiritual stand- 
point, it reflects all that is grand, beautiful and soul-in- 
spring — simply a gateway to the spirit realms. 

The poor-house is generally considered the lowest 
note in the scale of life, a note when expressed in the 
voice, trills a sorrow so plaintive, so tender, so mourn- 
ful, so tear-stained, that one can seem to feel the intoned 
sighs, and moans of anguish of those who compose a 
funeral cortege conveying to the yawning grave some 
loved one of the family circle. But however sepulchral 
the word sounds, there are cases where a poor-house has 
been the scene of a triumphant angelic pageant, its beauty 
transcending the loftiest dream of poet or seer. 

144 



The conventional poor-house, of which Will Carlton 
sings so plaintively, so sadly, was, like all otic 
kind, an asylum for those unable to take car.- ot" them- 
selves; but the poor house of which we now write 
was not an asylum where attendants feed and I 
of the indigent and sick at the public expt □ 

The poor house about which this lesson we Intend to 
convey concentrates, was in no Bense like the count \ i 
houses scattered throughout the United States, with their 
attendant comforts and blessings. It was a rickety, di- 
lapidated, two-room house, constructed on the back <»i 
an otherwise vacant lot; a POOR house indeed, with a 
poverty-stricken old man living therein, who, by doing 
odd jobs, earned a scanty living; yet he appeared to be 
happy in his squalid surroundings. Ho was a romantic 
genius, a strange, weird combination of inward charms 
that at times seemed to show themselves in part just 
the lily does in its first process of escaping from its 
bud, and becoming a beautiful flower. He was a sort of 
diamond in the rough, an expiring note in the Son 
Life, a reflection of some grand intention on the part 
of Nature, which was thwarted in its action in the pro- 
cess of development, and thus its good designs mispl 
in a large degree. 

Indeed, this old man, "The Swiss Minstrel," as he 
was called, did not have a home in the ordinary conven- 
tional poor-house, sustained by taxing the public, but In a 
poor house, a semblance of a home-like structure. Tin re 
he lived, merely a vestige of his former sell He was 
at one time, as the paper said, a favorite Binger, Frequent- 
ly taking a minor part in English opera; and ye( in his 
old age and decrepitude, he could still sing the plaintive 
melodies, trills, warbles and Bwe< of life in llis 

mountain home in Switzerland, and he would gather 
around him a crowd in the Btreet, where he would during 
the day obtain nickels enough to furnish him a bare liv- 
ing in his own constructed poor house. This Bwisi Min- 
strel was regarded as eccentric, yet his soul wis dll 
illuminated; he was a born philanthropist, an angel in 
the rough, his life a perennial melody, and 
much valuable coin in the higher spheres of the spirit 
realms. 

This Minstrel was frequently called npon to sing the 
i »:. 



anthem that was sung at the death of his beloved wife in 
his mountain home in Switzerland. It seemed that when 
he sung it his voice, so tremulously sweet, would lose 
its huskiness, arising from a surgical operation, and all 
who heard him were melted to tears. It was only on rare 
occasions that this child of nature would sing this Swiss 
anthem, it brought up so many sad reminiscences in con- 
nection with his beloved wife's funeral; and whenever 
he did sing it, the papers said, he claimed he saw his 
wife, who sung with him in angelic tones, and he won- 
dered that others could not hear her seraphic voice, which 
accompanied him, and the tears would stream down his 
face, as the last note of the anthem would melt in sweet 
vibrations in this poor house that he occupied, while the 
humble neighbors from the Swiss highland would sit in 
solemn stillness, and with reverent awe and tearful sad- 
ness listen to the entrancing music of the poor old Swiss 
Minstrel, who said his angel wife was standing by his 
side. Alas! what a scene! — a poor house in the most 
comprehensive sense of that word, and yet an Angel of 
Poverty, Light and Love was there to minister to one 
of earth's children. 

Finally the old man was taken sick, confined to his 
cot in his poor house home, and he was kindly ministered 
unto by his humble neighbors, who could not understand 
him when he talked of hearing seraphic music; of see- 
ing his dear wife; of taking part in the singing of celes- 
tial choristers; of seeing the scintillating waters of a 
flower-laden garden; of inhaling the exquisite aroma of 
blooming trees in the fields of Paradise, and he would 
extend his arms as if embracing, as he said, his beloved 
wife. One evening as a few of the neighbors crowded 
into his poor house home, his eyes seemed to glisten with 
unnatural brightness; his sunken cheek became illumin- 
ated with an angelic smile; his room without a light in 
the early evening time seemed to be aglow with some- 
thing divine when he said, "My wife and the angel chor- 
isters have come to sing their last song, and to take me 
with them to join them in singing in the classical schools 
of Paradise." And then seemingly transfigured, he sat 
on the side of his cot, and sung the songs of his own 
Swiss home, with such transcendent sweetness in his 
voice that a professor of music who happened to be pres- 

146 



ent, said, Divine! Divine!! Finally the end cam 
this angelic man in his poor house home. The light of 
his life went out; his voice was hushed, hia pallid 
took on the hue of death, his eyes closed, and thus his 
career ended on earth. He did not live and die in the 
conventional poor-house, but in a poor house of his own 
— so poor, oh! so poor, yet scrupulously clean; and the 
very air seemed spiritualized with the smiles of angels. 
Thus this good man passed to the higher realms. 

I had rather be this Swiss Minstrel, dying in a poor 
house, with no relatives to mourn his death, minis! 
unto in his last moments by the angels, than to be a king 
crowned with riches, dying in a palace, jrel unworthy to 
be admitted into the spirit presence of this Swiss Minstrel 



14T 



THE LIPE OF 'OSTLER JOE. 




STOOD at eve, as the sun went down, 
by the grave where a woman lies, 

Who lured men's souls to the shores 
of sin with the light of her wan- 
ton eyes; 

Who sang the song that the siren sang 
on the treacherous Lurely height, 

Whose face was as fair as a summer 
day and whose heart was as black as night. 

Yet a blossom I fain would pluck to-day from the garden 

above her dust — 
Not the langorous lily of soulless sin, nor the blood-red 

rose of lust. 
But a sweet white blossom of holy love that grew in the 

one green spot 
In the arid desert of Phryne's life, where all was parched 

and hot. 

In the summer, when the meadows were aglow with blue 

and red, 
Joe, the 'ostler of the Magpie, and fair Annie Smith were 

wed ; ; 
Plump was Annie, plump and pretty, with a cheek as 

white as snow; 
He was anything but handsome, was the Magpie's 'Ostler 

Joe. 

But he won the winsome lassie. They'd a cottage and a 

cow, 
And her matronhood s'at lightly on the village beauty's 

brow. 
Sped the months and came a baby — such a blue-eyed 

baby boy! 
Joe was working in the stables when they told him of his 
• joy. 

148 



He was rubbing down the horses, and he gave them then 

and there 
All a special feed of clover, just in honor of the heir. 
It had been his great ambition, and he told th€ horsei 

That the fates might send a baby who might bear the 
name of Joe. 

Little Joe the child was christened, and, like bat) 
apace ; 

He'd his mother's eyes of azure and his father's h< 
face; 

Swift the happy years went over, years of blue and (loud- 
less sky — 

Love was lord of that small cottage, and the temi 
passed them by. 

Passed them by for years, then swiftly burst In fur; 

their home; 
Down the lane by Annie's cottage chanced a gentleman to 

roam; 
Thrice he came and saw her sitting by the window with 

her child, 
And he nodded to the baby, and tho baby laughed and 

smiled. 

So at last it grew to know him — little Joe was nearly four. 
He would call the "pretty gempling" as he pas- d the 

open door; 
And one day he ran and caught him, and in child's play 

pulled him in, 
And the baby Joe had prayed for brought about t li ♦ * 

mother's sin. 

'Twas the same old wretched story that for ag 

have sung; 
'Twas a woman weak and wanton and a villain's tempting 

tongue; 
'Twas a picture deftly painted for a silly en 
Of the Babylonian wonders and th.' Joy that in them 

Annie listened and was tempted; she was tempted and 

she fell, 

149 



As the angels fell from heaven to the blackest depths of 

hell; 
She was promised wealth and splendor and a life of 

guilty sloth; 
Yellow gold for child and husband, and the woman left 

them both. 

Home one eve came Joe, the 'ostler, with a cheery cry of 

"Wife!" 
Finding that which blurred forever all the story of his 

life. 
She had left a silly letter — through the cruel scrawl he 

spelt; 
Then he sought the lonely bedroom, joined his hands 

and knelt. 

"Now, O Lord, O God, forgive her, for she ain't to 

blame," he cried; 
"For I owt t' a' se^n her trouble and a' gone away and 

died; " 
Why, a wench like her — God bless her — 'twasn't likely as 

her'd rest 
With her bonny head forever on a 'ostler's ragged vest. 

"It was kind o' her to bear me all this long and happy 

time, 
So for my sake please to bless her, though you count her 

deed a crime; 
If so be I don't pray proper, Lord, forgive me; for you 

see, 
I can talk all right to 'osses, but I'm nervous like with 

thee." 
Never a line came to the cottage from the woman who 

had flown; 
Joe, the baby, died that winter, and the man was leffc 

alone. 
Ne'er a bitter word he uttered but in silence kissed the 

rod. 
Saving what he told his horses, saving what he told his 

God. 

Far away in mighty London rose the woman into fame, 

150 



For her beauty won men's homage, and she prospered In 

her shame; 
Quick from lord to lord she flitted, higher still each prize 

she won, 
And her rivals paled beside her as the stars beside the 

sun. 

Next she made the stage her market, and she dragged 

Art's temple down 
To the level of a show place for the outcasts of the town. 
And the kisses she had given to poor 'Osier Joe for naught 
With their gold and costly jewels rich and titled li 

bought. 
Went the years with flying footsteps while the star 

at its height; 
Then the darkness came on swiftly and the gloaming 

turned to night. 
Shattered strength and faded beauty tore the laurels from 

her brow; 
Of the thousands who had worshipped never one came 

near her now. 

Broken down in health and fortune, men forgot her 

name. 
Till the news that she was dying woke the echoes of 

fame; 
And the papers in their gossip mentioned how nn 

tress" lay 
Sick to death in humble lodgings, growing 

day. 

One there was who read the story in a far-off country 

place, 
And that night the dying woman woke and looked 

his face. 
Once again the strong arms clasped her that had Cli 

her long ago 
And the weary head lay pillowed on th< 

Joe. 

All the past had he forgotten, all ths Md the 

shame; 

151 



He had found her sick and lonely, and his wife he now 

could claim. 
Since the grand folks who had known her one and all 

had slunk away, 
He could clasp his long-lost darling, and no man could 

say him nay. 

In his arms death found her lying, in his arms her spirit 
fled; 

And his tears came down in torrents as he knelt beside 
her, dead. 

Never once his love had faltered through her base, un- 
hallowed life; . 

And the stone above her ashes bears the honored name 
of wife. 

********* 

That's the blossom I fain would pluck to-day from the gar- 
den above her dust; 

Not the langorous lily of soulless sin or blood-red rose 
of lust, . 

But a sweet, white blossom of holy love that grew in the 
one green spot 

In the arid desert of Phryne's life where all was parched 
and hot. — Geo. R. Sims. 

The above poem, whether a fancy or imaginary 
sketch, a dream, a vision, or a substantial reality, con- 
veys an important lesson just as the fragrant flower does, 
which pushes its way through the slush and unhealthy 
soil of the back yard, and smiles serenely at the divine 
lesson it conveys to mortals who gaze lovingly upon it, 
for it has triumphed over obstacles, and brings light, 
beauty and joy from nature's grand store-house. As to 
'Osier Joe he may have been an imaginary being woven 
into poetry, a factor in a fairy tale, a yarn, as it were, 
from which to produce a moral or impart a divine lesson; 
but whatever the facts, the picture is tearfully drawn, 
and has in some respects a parallel in actual life. 

There is an UNDERWORLD in every large city, and 
you may congratulate yourself that you do not live there 
in reality. It is a receptacle of crushed hopes, aspira- 
tions not realized, lives that are wrecked, virtues that 

152 



have been darkened or wholly obliterated by selflsl 
and sin; there is a constant stream of human beings drift- 
ing towards that UNDERWORLD. The Black Hal 
sin is there; the one who lives by murder and theft i- 
there; the one engaged in the white slave trade is there; 
the Magdalen is there with the smile of an outcast to lure 
others downward into the depths of hell. 

The UNDERWORLD is a place of darkness, sin. Buf- 
fering and despair. Wails of agony, tears of deep angui8fa 
and sighs of regrets are often heard there from son. 
pentant soul desiring to escape therefrom, but can not. 
You approach that UNDERWORLD just in proportion BJ 
you are selfish, covetous, or sinful, or just in proportion 
as your thoughts and acts of life are impure or unclean. 
Thousands are right in tins UNDERWORLD, the very 
lowest plane of material and spiritual life. This UNDER- 
WORLD is an actual reality, and every one is gradually 
approaching it, or receding from it. Pure thoughts, un- 
selfishness, generous impulses and kindly feelings tow 
all humanity cawse you to drift further and further from 
this UNDERWORLD of carnal sin and pleasure. 

Are you there? If so, God and angels pity you. 

Are you approaching it gradually? 

That depends on yourself. Your thoughts, your acts 
in life, and your aspirations determine whether you are 
actually in the UNDERWORLD or not, or gradually ap- 
proaching it, or receding from it. in this UNDERWORLD 
are the lewd, the licentious, the thief, the despoiler of vir- 
tue, the one who is wholly or partially a degenerate, an 1 
those who have no respect for the rightfl of others. In 
this UNDERWORLD are thousand, of young uirls who 
have been drawn there by the fascination of sin ate: 

carnal "pleasure" derived therefrom. The music of this 

UNDERWORLD is generally of the "rag time." with f 

tions that lead to bestial thoughts ami burning 

causing its denizens to sink deeper and deep< r into the 

filth of \i< e and sin. 

As the daily papers said there had drifted tO this 
UNDERWORLD a young girl. Kit;, 
name to hide her shame. Kitty was sinmilarlv beautiful, 

and under promise of marriage was led 

under a combination of circumstances had reached thhi 

1 5 3 



UNDERWORLD of lust and licentiousness. To the last 
moment of her sin-stricken life she retained traces of her 
remarkable beauty, and never lacked for admirers in this 
UNDERWORLD where lives are gradually wrecked and 
ruined, and sent hellward. She was familiar with the 
Salvation Army girls who often frequent the lowest hells 
of vice to sell their magazine, and never in the vilest 
haunts of sin are they insulted or molested, but are 
allowed to come and go in peace. Kitty Karson became 
acquainted with one of them, and they often had heart 
to heart talks, and they never parted without an affec- 
tionate embrace and tear-stained eyes'. 

Finally this UNDERWORLD exhibited itself in all its 
infernalism — great sores developed on Kitty's face and 
she finally became blind, and wholly helpless. Notwith- 
standing her vile life of carnal pleasures, she had care- 
fully hoarded her money, and had ample means to take 
care of herself at a private hospital, where she was con- 
veyed. Through the Salvation Army she tried to reach 
her mother, who lived in Detroit, Mich., at the time her 
wayward girl took leave of her. An investigation re- 
vealed the fact that she had passed to spirit life — died 
of a broken heart, while her father could not be found. 
Blind, helpless, diseased beyond hope of recovery, there 
came to her mind the thought of the future, and her 
bleak, desolate life, and she prayed, and prayed for new 
•sight, and new life that she might again mingle with the 
world — REDEEMED! and lead a happy, useful life; and 
she prayed and prayed for forgiveness; her prayers 
were tearful, tender, pathetic, and when heard by the 
nurses and physician in attendance, the tears of sympathy 
and love would start in their eyes, and they would try 
to solace her with kindly, sympathetic words and care. 
In her delirium she prayed that her mother might come 
to her, and stopping suddenly in one of her delirious pray- 
ers and tender supplications, she said: "The morning 
light has come. I see my mother," and then she sank 
back on her pillow, and passed to spirit life. 

Thus ended the career of one who had lived in the 
UNDERWORLD, but in her worst and most darkened 
conditions had hopes that sometimes she could lead a 
different life, and they clung to her until her dying mo- 
ments, when her prayers brought her mother to her side, 

154 



to receive her in the realms of souls, where, through the 
agency of ministering spirits, she will be able to 
leave her darkened condition behind her. 

Ever bear in mind that this UNDERWORLD IS \ 
REALITY, and that while many are drifting above it and 
from it, by virtue of noble lives, others are drifting 
towards it, descending deeper and deeper into its cavern- 
ous depths, until all hope is lost, and they di»- with B 
curse on their lips only to awaken in an UNDERWORLD 
on the spirit side where there is a dark, dreary waste 
to greet them, an UNDERWORLD of wrecked lives and 
blasted hopes, 



155 



PURITY OP MIIND AND HEART. 



In his seventy-ninth year, decrepid, half blind, nearly 
starved, James Meredith was found by a neighbor, kneel- 
ing by the side of his dead wife, in an Eastern city, his 
hand tenderly and affectionately clasping hers. He was 
uttering a fervent prayer to God to restore her to life 
and health, that she might add to his lonely life that 
sweet pathos that comes to one when divinely linked to 
another in these keen sorrows of life that lacerate the soul 
and bring bitter pains to the memory. 

Mr. Meredith, as the story goes, was old, infirm 
and illy prepared to grapple with the stern realities of 
life as presented under a Christian civilization, and 
when he first clasped the hand of his devoted wife, she 
was alive, and he interpreted her spasmodic convulsions 
of the breath and body, in dying, as an effort of nature 
to throw off the disease and return to health. 

Mr. Meredith had not as yet, broken the tyrannical 
shackles of an orthodox church. However misguided in 
his religion, yet he was kind hearted, the tendrils of his 
sympathetic nature seeming to vibrate a sweet song of 
love, intoned with the breath of angels, and illuminated 
with their sweet smile of love and sympathy. He 
prayed and prayed, while he held the withered hand of 
his dying wife, and at times bending in his supplications 
to Deity to place his cheek affectionately on her face, 
which was gradually growing colder and colder, until all 
life faded away, just as the golden sunset fades away as 
the sun recedes to illuminate other climes. Though dead, 
he held her hand, and in piteous tones prayed that she 
might live, and thus while on his knees in pathetic peti- 
tions to his God, his soul became illuminated with a 
light divine, and seemingly in a trance, he saw two forms 
— one his wife lying on a pallet of straw, and the other 
a figure just like hers stood by his side with its paleness 

156 



vanished, the wrinkles all gone, the tattered dress no 
longer visible, the hectic flush on the face Km 
placed with a roseate hue of divine radiance whil 
smile illumined with joy unspeakable beamed on 
countenance as if her whole nature bad been displ 
by an angel right from paradii 

Lo! the second figure speaks, and in loins to him 
ineffably sweet and tender, tells him that Bhe the real 
self — is in heaven and an angel by her side tells her 
that a home awaits her and him, a vine-clad and Bower- 
embordered home — oh! so sweet and lovely, and that 
the sorrows of earth have turned into a sublime fruitage, 
far surpassing in beauty and loveliness the loftiest ll 
ination to conceive. Then the old man awoke from whit 
seemed to be an experience so weird, so lovely, enchant- 
ing, that for a moment he was bewildered, seemingly 
dazed, and he did not realize that his beloved wife had 
been for some time locked in the embrace of death. 
Finally he awakened to the situation. For a time he 
stood on the divide as it were, between the two realms. 
the spiritual and the material. He had seen the border 
of the spirit realms, and caught a glimpse of his future 
home in the land of souls. He had seen his wife trans- 
figured into — to him — an Angel of Light and Love. 
Gradually the enchanting spiritual experience passed 
away, and he found himself alone with his dead wii> 
still holding her cold hand, and at times pressing H to 
his cheek. Finally he laid her two hands tenderly upon 
her breast, while the tears flowed down his half-starred 
cheeks, bearing the sweet incense of love toward hifl do- 
voted companion. 

So it not infrequently occurs that the ck>8l] 
of an earthly life where poverty exists, where bui 
pinches, and the cold chills from a Btove with QO 
embers of coal therein, pierce every liber, are truly I • 
tiful, grandly practical, Intrinsically sublime, and re 
angelic. Kings have died in their palace; QU< 
passed away on a flower-adorn, d bed; wealth] Dal 
have ceased to breathe while surrounded with a ret 
of servants and sympathising friends, bu1 none of 
death-bed scenes equaled that of Mrs Meredith, 
erty-stricken. half-starved and dl 

157 



spects, except in the sublime devotion of her dear com- 
panion in sorrow. In death, money counts no more than 
a pallet of straw. The wealth of a multi-millionaire can- 
not secure servants on the spirit side of life to render his 
death-bed scenes delightfully beautiful. He cannot trans- 
figure himself from a cold, selfisih, exacting man through 
the agency of his wealth, into an angel whose vestments 
are made in a celestial workshop through pure life and 
deeds. 

After the sad death-scene which the poor old man, 
Meredith, had witnessed, he became a changed man. All 
nature was to him delightfully intoned with such a sweet 
melody that his whole nature seemed transformed. Un- 
der the influence of that death-bed scene, the vision, the 
taking of the remains of his wife by the city authorities 
to bury as the poor always are buried in that metropolis, 
he became a changed man. In dreams and visions his 
spirit wife came to him, caressed him, kissed him, and por- 
trayed to him the great beauty of his future home. Thus 
it is, that it pays- an immense percentage to BE GOOD 
and DO GOOD; to live an unselfish life; to bring 
heaven to earth, by living here as advanced spirits do 
there; by attracting spirits to aid in all things desirable, 
by living practically on the same plane as they do. 

Meredith in his old age lived at times on the divide 
between the material and spiritual realm; especially 
was that true when he prayed his night and morning de- 
votions! It was then that his sensitiveness was so deli- 
cate, so attuned that he could hear spirit music, see beau- 
tiful scenes in the realms of souls, and during those 
Pentecostal scenes, his spirit wife would be present to 
inspire him with lofty thoughts and aspirations. When 
his simple prayers were. over the spirit scenes would van- 
ish, the dear wife would disappear, and he would find 
himself on the material side of life, the same old man, 
pinched with poverty, yet honest, moral, spiritual, and 
clean in all his thoughts and aspirations. 

Thus it is that often in the humble walks of life the 
death-bed scenes are often very beautiful, transcending 
in all respects those of the death of an earthly potentate, 
or a multi-millionaire who is tinged with selfishness. 



158 



THE ANGEL IN YOUR NATURE. 



In all the walks of life, there is certainly u. prai 
work for .every one to do. The sphere for so doing may 
be circumscribed, may be exceedingly small, 
capacity for doing good therein measures most accur 
THE ANGEL in one's nature. You may be poverty- 
stricken, your life may be practically sunless, 1! 
joyless, and destitute to a great extent of the ph] 
comforts of life, yet you can possess, for all that, some- 
thing of the AXGEL, and radiate an influence that will 
enrich the world. Your sphere of action may be exceed- 
ingly narrow, yet you well know that the sunlight will 
creep through a very small hole in the wall, and if it then 
passes through a glass prism, it will divide into m 
different colors — red, orange, yellow, green, blue, Indigo 
and violet. So from the exceedingly small radlui 
life, there may arise more -even than seven Influences that 
may go forth benignly to bless the world. 

The angelic qualities determine your status in the 
spiritual realms, and nothing else does it so well. 

As the ingenious gardener fertilizes the soil in order 
to impart greater vitality to stalk, bud and flower, so 
you can spiritually fertilize your whole nature by thou 
that vibrate in perfect harmony with the divine 
the higher spheres, providing, of course, that you BU] 
ment the same with heroic acts in the alleviation ol 
pains and suffering of unfortunate mortals, as far as 
possible. 

To become divinely as jou masl do as the aa> 

gels do. 

You cannot attain the angelic Btate, while i 
slave to selfishness, avarl 
thoughts that bear upon them a aataoic Impn • 
darkened with extreme selflshn* 
pathway and retard your prOj n 

l 5 9 



There are those who aspire to be angels, but who 
never do an angelic act, and have no angelic qualities in 
their natures. In fact, the hideous monster of iniquity 
whose acts are covered with the slime of selfishness often 
desires to be an angel. He wants the prize without strug- 
gling for it. Such a person in his aspirations is a coun- 
terfeit, a vile pretender — the world at large is full of 
such persons. 

One of our old workers, P. B. Randolph, an author 
and lecturer of note, now in spirit life, was somewhat 
erratic, yet chockfull of the milk of human kindness. 
One night as he was walking along the streets of New 
York many years ago he was taken deathly sick, and 
sat down on the edge of the sidewalk and commenced to 
vomit. Finely dressed ladies and gentlemen passed him, 
looking out of the corner of their eyes; finally he was 
accosted by a young woman, neatly dressed, who pro- 
vided him with a room, and nursed him back to health 
again; and yet she was a Magdalen, an outcast, a woman 
of the town — yef, strange to say, with a soul full of 
divine sympathy for those who were suffering, and under 
the genial influence of Randolph she afterwards re- 
formed, and cultivated the angel in her nature. 

There was something sublimely heroic in the conduct 
of James Ashley, a gambler, as he dashed into a burn- 
ing block and rescued a little girl and her mother from 
the flames; he returned to rescue another, but was 
smothered by the smoke and flame, and passsed to the 
realm of souls under the genial influence of his humane 
deed. He had something of the angel in his make up, 
and will advance rapidly in the spirit realms. 

There was Jane Eyer — not wholly good, nor wholly 
bad. She occupied a midway station between "heaven" 
and 'hell." She had a beautiful foretaste of heaven in 
her dreams, and was baptized in the fragrance of its 
trees, which formed clouds of incense, brilliant, as it 
seemed to her, with the genial smile of angels, and their 
words to her in dreamland seemed to exhale sweetness, 
so mild, so gentle, so sympathetic and encouraging, the 
flowers seemed to pulsate under the influence of the music 
she heard, every vibration of which, floating off in the 
spiritual atmosphere, left its divine impress on every 

160 



plant, flower, or tree, rendering them more beautiful to 
her sight. Not wholly good, nor wholly bad, yet she 
possessed enough of the angel in her nature to be 
brought in close touch with her spirit mother only, who 
was trying to get her off of her midway station Into ■ 
purer spiritual atmosphere, where the angel in her nature 
would receive a new impetus and be properly d< 
Jane Eyer was a woman of the town, on a far h: 
plane than some, for the life she was leading was repug- 
nant to her; but environment, the conduct of friends, 
and her failure to find employment, kept her on the mid- 
way station, while she was constantly seeking for I 
light. 

Many there are on this midway station, anchored to 
it — anchored there by their thoughts, whose emanations, 
like that of a miasmatic swamp, is Btifling, darkening. 
debasing, shutting out the light just beyond, a light 
divinely radiant with the smiles of seers, philosopi 
poets, and many others with like aspirations. Jane I 
stood there, and when about to advance she would find 
obstacles in her way — alluring friends with 
would prevent a step forward, and thus she was com- 
pelled to live on this midway station, at times illuminat- 
ing the divine light of her soul, only to be extinguished 
in a short time by those who sapped her very vitality and 
life-blood. Finally the end came — and during her 
hours on earth her lamentations, tenderly pathetic and 
tear stained, and to angel ears a sad musical refrain, 
bearing on ite> vibrations the vain regrets 
life, brought the angels to her bedside, for while 
has besetting sins, there was a grand, beautiful, pat! 
angel side to her nature that would remove her feel for- 
ever from the midway station of life, where conditions 
for a time had imprisoned her. Taking the hand 01 
of her admirers whom she devotedly loved, she whis- 
pered, as reported at the time: .My good fellow. 
growing dark; the light of day seems to 
and I feel my life is ebbing away. S-h' I b 
ing music, so divinely sweet, so tender, that I i 
again nestling in my mother'! arm- in a itate Of 
innocence. The darkness is and I 

darling mother!" And then this poor woman 

LSI 



much of the angel in her nature that her saintly mother 
could approach her, take her with her, and prepare her 
for a future life of usefulness in the spirit realms of life, 
passed on. 

Jane Eyer had enough of the angel in her nature to 
receive the kind and considerate attention of those who 
stand ready to assist all who are looking for more light, 
and she soon arose from her dark conditions. 

How much of the ANGEL have you in your nature? 
That depends! You must have a goodly quantity, or 
the darkness will not readily recede for you. The angel 
in your nature determines your exact status in spirit life, 
whether little or much of that divine quality in your 
soul. You cannot receive angelic influences, unless you 
vibrate to a certain extent in harmony with them. 



G2 



TO DO GOOD AND BE GOOD, IS ANGELIC. 



THE VACANT CHAIK. 



The author of this poem is unknown. On account of 
its spiritual beauty, we place it here. Many a so-called 
vacant chair is filled by the loved ones that have left U8, 
could our dim eyes but see their angelic forms: 

Thee need not close the shutters yet; and, David, if thee 

will, 
I've something I would say to thee, while all the house 

is still. 
Thee knows 'tis easier to talk in this calm, quiet ll| 
Of things that In our busy days we hid away from Bight 

And home is wondrous sweet to me, this simple home ol 

ours, 
As well I know it is to thee in all these twilight hours. 
But since the shadow on it fell, does it appear to thee 
They are more sacred than of old, for so it 

And, David, since beside our board hu> Btood Kuti. - 

cant chair 
I never yet have clasped my hands and bowed my head 

in prayer 
But I have felt the yearning strong to see the 

face, 
And scarce, I fear, with thankfulness have joined th< 

lent grace. 

While often, at the evening meal, with all our children 

round, 
I still have pictured to myself i ton Bud silent mound, 

163 



Blue with the early violets or white with winter snow, 
And felt a tender pity for the form there lying low. 

Though morning may have cast a halo round the vacant 

chair, 
The sunlight only threw for me a silent shadow there, 
And, David, I have watched the stars when thee has been 

asleep, 
For well thee knows I could not bear to have thee see 

me weep. 

And yet I never have rebelled — thee knows I speak the 

truth — 
Though some have said I grieve too much for our sweet 

daughter Ruth. 
But with the strongest yearning, I can always look above 
And feel the Father does not chide the changeless human 

love. 

I cannot put it into words — I know I need not try; 
For thee has understood it all — borne with me patiently. 
Thy cares and duties, it is true, are heavier than mine, 
But of their deeper feelings men make but slight outward 
sign. 

And, David, thee has sometimes thought it strange that 
I should care 

To wreath with flowers and evergreens our daughter's 
vacant chair. 

Yet I so long to keep her gentle memory green and sweet 

For all the children, though her name I seldom now re- 
peat. 

I cannot seem to speak it with a quiet, restful tone, 
Though often, in their thoughtless way, they name the 

absent one; 
And yet this morn I tried to tell them in a gentle way 
Ruth would have counted eighteen years had she been 

here to-day— 

This bright Thanksgiving day; and then, to me all una- 
ware, 

164 



The children placed beside our board our daugl, 

cant chair, 
And now thee sees it, twined with flowers, stand In 

moonlight clear; 
David, I could not draw it back, but left it standin 

And it was strange but as 1 bowed my head in silent 

grace, 
I saw our daughter sitting in her old accustomed pi 
I dAd not start nor speak, but only felt a glad sin 
To see how wondrous fair she was in all her ang< 

Her face was glad and glorified, as if the joy of be 
An added charm to that sweet smile we loved below had 

given. 
I know 'twas but a passing fancy filled the vacant chair. 
But when I turned a ray of sunshine seemed to linger 

there. 

But, David, in my heart I've kept that vision all 

long, 
While it has seemed to lift me up and make my faith 

more strong. 
For I have felt through all, in some mysterious way, 
Ruth's silent presence may have filled her vacant chair 

to-day. 

And though I thought this early morn I nevermore could 

know 
A truly thankful heart for all my blessings bare balow, 
Since in our home the vacant chair stood ev.r in my 

sight, 
Yet, David, that was wrong, I know — 1 aee It all to-night 

And I shall try to picture Ruth amid th< aow; 

Not lying in that Bilent mound, beneath the- rain 

snow, 
As I perhaps too oft have done on winter nights of storm. 
When all the others gathered round tl 

and warm. 
And well I know one thought alone should l 

reconciled, 

It;;, 



That I may always call my own this sweet, pure angel 

child, 
And, David, if thee will, I yet would twine the vacant 

chair, 
To keep the vision that I saw to-day still sweet and fair. 

The world is full of inequalities — contrasts; some of 
them beautifully charming, lovely beyond the expression 
of mortal tongue, and scintillating with pearls that seem- 
ingly were evolved from the approving smiles of some 
angelic creature that had constant access to the "Holy 
of Holies," and who emerged therefrom each day laden 
with the choice jewels of Love, Charity and Kindly Feel- 
ings, to impart to those who had risen to an eminence 
where they could appreciate them, and realize their in- 
trinsic worth. All things belong to inequalities — all 
things, the diabolically ugly, and the supremely beautiful 
as expressed in the higher realms of spirit life are of a 
constituent part thereof. There is the high mountain, 
rock-ribbed, towering in the grandeur of its desolation, 
while below is the fertile valley, evolving from its an- 
gelic qualities the genial, incomparable smile of nature, 
as manifested in the rainbow tints of the flower, so many 
jewels on her bosom, and the exquisite taste of the fruit 
on the trees, apparently the outgrowth of the deep, ten- 
der, sympathetic emotions of the underground world of 
the material side of life! Inequalities everywhere. They 
ascend to the highest heaven; they descend to the lowest 
hell; they extend throughout all the realms of the uni- 
verse, from the idiot to the gods of the highest sphere 
(if any highest) in the universe. You cannot EVEN 
things in the regions of space. Inequalities are there, 
and will continue. You cannot make an angel at once 
out of crude material, any more than you can instantly 
make a flower spring forth fairy-like out of a seed where- 
in it is sweetly sleeping, silently aspiring to gladden mor- 
tals with the_; tints, of. the morning, sunbeams as they 
come through, wisps of clouds in the east to cheer the 
mortals of earth. The lowest vibrations on the material 
side of life are just as important in the working processes 
of nature as the very highest. 

One class of vibrations produce sound, another heat, 
166 



another electricity, another clairaudience, ai lalr- 

voyance, another the highest form of inspiration, an 
light, different kinds extending through the various colors 
— orange, red, indigo, blue, violet, ultra-violet, and • 
extending possibly into colors the eye cannot discern. 

An elderly, unpretentious woman, had been an omniv- 
orous reader of books pertaining to Spiritualism, Theoso- 
phy and occult subjects. With a marvelous memor] 
could probably repeat verbatim larger portions of t 
masterly productions than the authors th< and 

seemed to be delighted therewith. She thought along 
substantial lines, and naturally angelic in her nature. 
she reasoned that if all her thought- 
were absolutely pure, her whole life as clean as Inno i 
itself, that just as soon as she could place herself in 
perfect harmony with all the cardinal virt 
oped by the higher denizens of spirit life, she would then 
naturally come within the plane of those vibnr 
result in clairvoyance and clairaudience and at 
time not be a medium. That was the reasoning 
X., as set forth lucidly by one who was intimatel; 
quainted with her. As brutality blunts the fin 
bilities, lowers the spiritual vibrations, hardens the 
ings, and renders one more and more like an animal, 
even possibly to the extent of utter extinguishment of all 
that is spiritual, making really a brute of a person, with 
no higher aspirations than the most vicious animal. 
X. reasoned that by scrupulous and systemati 
lowing the opposite course, one could rise to thi 
plane of spirituality where only the a: and 

being in their vibrations, in harmony therewith, 
could naturally, without being a medium, hear spirit 
voices, see spirit scenes, and hold 
who were on her plane-vibration, 
ished selfishness, avarice, unkii 
tious display. Her v MM mu-; 

smile a benediction; her laughter a ripplis 
benign cheerfulness and good! 
itable acts were as unostentatious as the morning 
beam which comes to earth on a Bummi 
flowers while the dewdrop nestles. 

.Mrs. X. had lost a lOVelj 'laughter — a part 
167 



very life — one perennial pleasure to her, and for several 
years she had placed a vacant chair at the table, believ- 
ing that some day she would see, sitting therein, that 
precious child! As the narrative sets forth, Mrs. X.'s 
nature became refined, her spiritual vibrations increased 
in number, until she could by a mere effort of the will 
see spirit®, hear their words of wisdom, and see the soul- 
enchanting scenes of spirit life, and the most important 
fact of all, the hitherto vacant chair to her was occupied 
at times by her beloved daughter; she could see her, hear 
her, and feel her as in mortal life, and her very existence 
became a sweet poem, a profound philosophy, a center 
of soul-elevating activities, a focus of vibrations that 
opened wide the doors of spirit life, and why? Because 
she combined within herself all the constructive princi- 
ples of nature, — charity, unselfishness, benevolence, kind- 
ness, zeal in doing right, with an ever awakened con- 
sciousness to DO GOOD and BE GOOD, in all the "Walks 
of life. Personally, we have no absolute knowledge this 
narrative is true, but we do know there is one — a man 
— whose life in nearly all respects parallels that of Mrs. 
X., and hence we are inclined to believe as probable 
and possible the narrative in relation to this remarka- 
ble lady, who now sees that the "vacant" chair is filled, 
that its occupant speaks and illuminates the mother's 
heart with joy unspeakable, with pleasures emanating 
from angelic sources, with an influence that radiates only 
harmony and happiness, 

Whatever your position in life, you can not advance 
spiritually only along the lines of all the cardinal vir- 
tues, which are all embraced within four important 
words, BEING GOOD and DOING GOOD, which has in 
many cases led to a spiritual growth enabling a person, 
while standing on the Divide between the two worlds, to 
hold converse with the angels on the one side and mor- 
tals on the other. 



168 



ThlE END OP THE PRIMROSE PATH. 



"The primrose path" ends like many a primrose Itself, 
or other flower, whether gaudy or delicate-hued. [tfl end 
is inevitable. It is almost always the same — or nearly 
so. One of the Chicago dailies, some time ago, had BO 
article on this subject, which pertained to a case of 
world-wide renown — or infamy rather — and in 
one of the "celebrated cases" of history, either ancient 
modern. The people described composed a trinity ot 
and crime hardly paralleled; but "the primrose path" 
was theirs, and it ended at last, leaving the stalks \t 
once blossomed the flowers of illicit love and accompany- 
ing vices bare and blackened in the hour of desolation 
and death. One of the actors in the melodrama li - 
in an unhonored grave, and under circumstances which 
make even his own family reluctant to have his Dame 
mentioned; another one got himself sent to an in 
asylum to save his life, and the third Buppl< menta tin 
story of her tale of temptation and lapse from virtue 
by living on charity or maybe by less honorable m< 
As the paper referred to abo\ the moral of the 

tale is the old, old story — as old as humanity itself — 
and yet one that never grows old. Bince in < 
eration there are those who will not learn it — until 
late. 

Here was a man of uncommon talent -even genial 
— in his chosen profession. His works of skill and 
beauty praised him to all the world. Bui not 

content with a fair-won fame. He sought depravity and 
plunged into it, even to worse than bestial crime. And 
he sleeps in a dishonored grave. 

Here was a younger man. with ev< intage and 

opportunity to live a decent, upright life. But in the 
name of pleasure he sought for the unclean and 
lowed in it. And he dwells among madmen, perhaps 
never to leave their society. 

Here was a woman endowed with meat tx 
though unfortunate^ situated, not without int< 

L69 



to know right from wrong. That she might live lux- 
uriously she let herself be led into depravity and called 
it pleasure. And she is a physical and moral wreck 
at twenty-two! 

The lesson of it all is plain and clear before us every 
day. But it needs ever to be reiterated and enforced 
upon the minds of the young, and to be taken to heart 
by young and old alike. 

It is better to be decent, no matter how pleasant 
it may seem to tamper with indecency. The primrose 
path leads down to hell, and the wages of sin is death. 

This conveys an important, impressive lesson of to- 
day. The people connected with the melodrama lived 
exclusively for self, like the very lowest order of crea- 
tion. In connection with the above, read carefully the 
following touching article on "Clean Lips and a Clean 
Mind," by Dr. Madison C. Peters: 

"Clean lips and a clean mind are the badges of 
noblest manhood. Go among some men of an apparently 
decent type and you will be sickened by the coarse slang 
and jests and contemptible jokes which meet with no 
manly protest. 

"Tell me what your most cherished feelings are and 
I will tell you what you will be. Cleanliness of a man's 
clothes ought to put him in mind of keeping all clean 
within. Epicurus said: 'The man who is not virtuous 
can never be happy.' The pleasure of iniquity in any 
form is confined to the moment of indulgence in it. 

"You have to manufacture it anew on every occasion, 
and you can only recall the enjoyment by repeating the 
folly, and with repetition the same discovery of the fleet- 
ing nature of the joy is made. It is not a fountain 
sending ever forth its sparkling waters, but a leaky 
pitcher, which is empty before we can drink even that 
which it first contained. 

"Robert Burns, whose thoughtless follies laid him 
low and stained his name, gives his experience in lines 
which are not more exquisitely beautiful than they are 
strictly true: 

" 'Pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; 
Or like the scowfall in the river, 
A moment white, then melts fdrever.' 
170 



"The world's pleasures, alluring and seductive, may 
glow like the rosy rind of the Dead Sea fruit; may ^ut- 
ter like the fresh scales of the sloughed serpent; may 
fascinate like the siren's maddening song; but nothing 
ever comes of it except misery and disappointment. 

"That a young man must sow his wild 
devil's maxim. The only thing to do with wild oats is 
to put them carefully in the hottest part of the fire 
and burn them to dust. Sow them, and up they will 
come with long, tough roots, luxuriant stalks and lei 
and a crop will follow which turns one's heart cold to 
think of. 

"The botanical definition for wild oats is: A 
of oat9 remarkable for the length of time the main will 
lie in the soil and retain its vegetative power. When' it 
abounds naturally it is an inveterate weed. The popular 
delusion that after a little while those who have Bown 
wild oats will settle down to steady habits and arc more 
likely to make better men for having sown wild oats has 
ruined thousands. 

"There are men who in an unguarded moment have 
gone into scenes of temptation and have turned away with 
horror, like a bird that, having strayed into tin 1 poison- 
ous atmosphere of chemical works, has rushed back 
quickly to the pure air of heaven, but such i 
the exception. One night in a place of evil concourse 
may so pollute the imagination as to break down all the 
barriers of years. The first step in sin Btartles a man. 
then it becomes in turn pleasing, easy, delightful, fre- 
quent, habitual, confirmed. Importunate, 
damned. 

"I have somewhere seen a BCUlptured repr< 
of Bacchus, the god of drink and revelry. He is riding 
on a panther at a furious bound. 11 
true! A man begins a career of vice and thin', 
mounted a well broken steed, that he has the reins hi 
hands, can keep it in control, and Btop it when he 
pleases. But lo! when he sees the approaching chasm 

and would fain pull up he finds he is Utride I avage 
brute that no human power can tame. 

"How many men would give all they ha\- 
life all over again! Alas and alack' How manv WTC 

die, scalded and Bcorched with agony; and were the Bum 

1-1 



of all the pain harvested that comes from sowing wild 
oats it would rend heaven with its outcry and make the 
cheeks of darkness pale. 

"There is nothing you need to cultivate so much as 
self-control. 'Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-con- 
trol. These three alone lead life to sovereign power.' 
Plato says: 'The first and best victory is for a man to 
conquer himself, and without that he is naught but the 
veriest slave.' Carlyle says: 'The king is the man who 
can.' 

"The harvest consequent upon impurity may not be 
immediate. There may be a period of gratification and 
delight in transgression, long continued, when the eye 
is not tired of seeing, nor the appetite glutted with in- 
dulgence. But sooner or later 'the glare of the enjoy- 
ment is shut out by returning clouds of conscious dis- 
tress, and the day of mirth sinks in the darkness of 
despair.' 

"It is not true that 'the good die young.' 'The wicked 
do not live out half their days.' Cicero said: 'To live 
long it is necessary to live slowly.' Franklin: 'If you 
will not hear reason, she will surely rap your knuckles.' 
Virgil: 'Cease to think that the decrees of the gods 
can be changed by prayers.' 

"Young man, living in America and the twentieth 
century, the synonyms for opportunity, will you sell 
your birthright for a few nights' carousing? Will you in 
the red gleaming of the wine cup, in the madness of the 
gambling table, drown all there is about you of purity 
and nobleness/ and manliness, and become a poor, de- 
graded, wretched thing? 

"Know prudent, cautious self-control is wisdom's 
root." 



The daily newspapers of this country teem with 
stories of people who in many respects have been con- 
tributors to those low vibrations, emotions, passions, 
tastes and practices, which place them exactly where 
they are. If your emotions tend toward habits which are 
unclean, vile and destructive in their tendencies, they 
lead you into spiritual darkness. Such emotions are a 
much greater obstruction to the vibrations that emanate 
from exalted spirits, than the darkest cloud is to the 

172 



sun's rays. The one who is on a low plane la constantly 
creating obstructions to the refining vibrations of tt 
in the higher spheres. Thus all the selfish pass! 
a barrier against the light of angelic Influence* The 
angels can only approach you just in proportion as you 
remove the barriers surrounding you, caused by the 
ercise of baneful passions, hence the necessity of having 
clean minds must be apparent to all. The cultivation ol 
vile passions, and the practice of evil, tend to fen< 
in spiritually, confining him, when death comi s, within 
that fence that he himself has created. In order to 
advance, you must purify the spiritual atmosphere around 
you, so that the garments of the angelic m< 
that approach you will not be so badly soiled. E 
evil thought, every envious feeling, every avaricious im- 
pulse, every practice of deception, every burst of an 
and every wrong perpetrated against another, places ob- 
structions in your own pathway. Commence, then. NOW. 
and create no more obstructions to Impede your progi 
and at the same time try to remove those you have 
already made, and with your atmosphere thus purified, 
vou are prepared to invite the angels to visit you. 



OCT 2U910 



One copy del. to Cat, Div. 



?l l 



